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A VIRGINIA SCOUT 

































# 




* 















■S 
















J 






“You were never meant for the frontier.” 









A Virginia Scout 


By 

HUGH PENDEXTER 

Author of 

Kings of the Missouri, Etc. 


Frontispiece by 
D. C. Hutchison 



INDIANAPOLIS 

THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS 


Copyright 1920 
The Ridgway Company 

Copyright 1922 

The Bobbs-Merrill Company 



Printed in the United States of America 


PRESS OF 

BRAUNWORTH & CO. 
BOOK MANUFACTURERS 
BROOKLYN, N. Y. 




\ 1 


_ APS I a 1922 . 

©Cl. A659589 u 


h/ 


To 

Faunce Pendexter 


My Son and Best of Seven- Year-Old Scouts 
This Story Is Lovingly Dedicated 

























CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGF 

I Three Travelers i 

II Indian-Haters 23 

III Over the Mountains 55 

IV I Report to My Superiors 81 

V Love Comes a Cropper 106 

VI The Pack-Horse-Man's Medicine .... 133 

VII Lost Sister 167 

VIII In Abb's Valley 193 

IX Dale Escapes 229 

X Our Medicine Grows Stronger 265 

XI Back to the Blue Wall 289 

XII The Shadows Vanish 311 

XIII Peace Comes to the Clearing 352 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 



r 


A Virginia Scout 


CHAPTER I 

THREE TRAVELERS 

IT WAS good to rest in the seclusion of my hollow 
sycamore. It was pleasant to know that in the 
early morning my horse would soon cover the four 
miles separating me from the soil of Virginia. As 
a surveyor, and now as a messenger between Fort 
Pitt and His Lordship, the Earl of Dunmore, our 
royal governor, I had utilized this unique shelter 
more than once when breaking my journey at the 
junction of the Monongahela and the Cheat. 

I had come to look upon it with something of af- 
fection. It was one of my wilderness homes. It 
was roughly circular and a good eight feet in diam- 
eter, and never yet had I been disturbed while occu- 
pying it. 

During the night I heard the diabolic screech of 
a loon somewhere down the river, while closer by 
rose the pathetic song of the whippoorwill. Strange 

I 


2 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


contrasts and each very welcome in my ears. I was 
awake with the first rays of the sun mottling the 
bark and mold before the low entrance to my re- 
treat. The rippling melody of a mocking-bird del- 
uged the thicket. Honey-bees hovered and buzzed 
about my tree, perhaps investigating it with the idea 
of moving in and using it for a storehouse. The 
Indians called them the “white man’s flies,” and 
believed they heralded the coming of permanent set- 
tlements. I hoped the augury was a true one, but 
there were times when I doubted. 

Making sure that the priming of my long Deck- 
hard rifle was dry, I crawled out into the thicket 
and stood erect. As far as the eye could roam 
stretched the rich bottom-lands and the low ridges, 
covered with the primeval growths of giant walnuts, 
maples, oaks and hickory. Small wonder that the 
heart of the homeseeker should covet such a country. 

Groves of beeches, less desired by settlers, were 
noisy with satisfied squirrels. From river to ridge 
the air was alive with orioles and cardinals and red- 
starts. And could I have stood at the western rim 
of my vision I would have beheld the panorama re- 
peated, only even richer and more delectable; for 
there was nothing but the ancient forest between me 
and the lonely Mississippi. 

Birds and song and the soft June air and the mys- 
tery of the Kentucky country tugging at my heart- 
strings. I felt the call very strong as I stood there 


THREE TRAVELERS 


3 


in the thicket, and gladly would I have traveled 
West to the richest game-region ever visited by 
white men. From some who had made the trip I 
had heard wonderful stories of Nature’s prodigality. 
There were roads made through tangled thickets by 
immense herds of buffaloes smashing their way five 
abreast. Deer were too innumerable to estimate. 
To perch a turkey merely required that one step a 
rod or two from the cabin door. Only the serious 
nature of my business, resulting from the very seri- 
ous nature of the times, held me back. 

On this particular morning when the summer was 
in full tide of song and scents and pleasing vistas, I 
was bringing important despatches to Governor 
Dunmore. The long-looked-for Indian war was 
upon us. From the back-country to the seaboard 
Virginians knew this year of 1774 was to figure 
prominently in our destiny. 

In the preceding spring we realized it was only a 
question of time when we must “fort” ourselves, or 
abandon the back-country, thereby losing crops and 
cabins. When young James Boone and Henry 
Russell were killed by Indians in Powell’s Valley in 
the fall of 1773, all hope of a friendly penetration of 
the western country died. Ever since Colonel 
Bouquet’s treaty with the Ohio tribes on the col- 
lapse of Pontiac’s War the frontier had suffered 
from many small raids, but there had been no or- 
ganized warfare. 


4 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


During those ten years much blood had been 
spilled and many cabins burned, but the red oppo- 
sition had not been sufficient to stop the backwoods- 
men from crowding into the Alleghanies. And only 
a general war could prevent them from overflowing 
down into the bottoms of the Ohio. The killing of 
friendly Shawnees at Pipe Creek below the mouth 
of the Little Kanawha in April, followed three 
days later by the cruel slaughter of John Logan’s- 
relatives and friends at Baker’s groggery opposite 
Yellow Creek, had touched off the powder. 

But the notion that the massacre of Logan’s 
people at Joshua Baker’s house was the cause of the 
war is erroneous. For any one living in the country 
at the time to have believed it would be too ridicu- 
lous. That brutal affair was only one more brand 
added to a fire which had smoldered for ten years. 

It happened to be the last piece of violence before 
both red and white threw aside make-believe and 
settled down to the ghastly struggle for supremacy. 
Hunters bound for Kentucky had suffered none 
from the Indians except as they had a brush with 
small raiding-parties. But when Daniel Boone un- 
dertook to convey his wife and children and the 
families of his friends into the wonderland the na- 
tives would have none of it. In killing his son and 
young Russell, along with several of their com- 
panions, the Indians were merely serving notice of 
no thoroughfare for home-builders. 


THREE TRAVELERS 


5 


So let us remember that Dunmore’s War was the 
inevitable outcome of two alien races determined on 
the same prize, with each primed for a death-strug- 
gle by the memories of fearful wrongs. It is useless 
to argue which race gave the first cause for retali- 
ation; it had been give and take between them for 
many years. Nor should our children’s children, 
because of any tendency toward ancestor-worship, 
be allowed to believe that the whites were invincible 
and slaughtered more natives than they lost of their 
own people. 

There were white men as merciless and murder- 
ous as any Indians, and some of these had a rare 
score of killings to their discredit. Yet in a man- 
for-man account the Indians had all the best of it. 
Veterans of Braddock’s War insisted that the fron- 
tier lost fifty whites for each red man killed. Bou- 
quet and other leaders estimated the ratio in Ponti- 
ac’s War to have been ten to one in favor of the 
Indians. 

This reduction proved that the settlers had learned 
something from the lessons taught in the old French 
War. Our people on the border knew all this and 
they were confident that in the struggle now upon 
them they would bring the count down to one for 
one.* So let the youngsters of the new day learn 

*It is estimated that the whites lost three to the Indians’ 
one in Dunmore’s War. 


6 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


the truth; that is, that the backwoodsmen clung to 
their homes although suffering most hideously. 

Virginia understood she must sustain the full 
brunt of the war, inasmuch as she comprised the dis- 
puted frontier. It was upon Virginia that the red 
hatred centered. I never blamed the Indians for 
this hate for white cabins and cleared forests and 
permanent settlements. Nor should our dislike of 
the Indians incite sentimental people, ignorant of 
the red man’s ways and lacking sympathy with our 
ambitions, to denounce us as being solely responsi- 
ble for the brutal aspects such a struggle will always 
display. 

It should also be remembered that the men of 
Pennsylvania were chiefly concerned with trade. 
Their profits depended upon the natives remaining 
undisturbed in their ancient homes. Like the French 
they would keep the red man and his forests un- 
changed. 

Naturally they disapproved of any migrations 
over the mountains; and they were very disagree- 
able in expressing their dissatisfaction. We retorted, 
overwarmly doubtless, by accusing our northern 
sister of trading guns and powder to the Indians for 
horses stolen from Virginia. There was bad blood 
between the two colonies; for history to gloss over 
the fact is to perpetrate a lie. Fort Pitt, recently 
renamed Fort Dunmore by the commandant, Doc- 
tor John Connolly, controlled the approach to the 


THREE TRAVELERS 


7 


Ohio country. It was a strong conditional cause 
of the war, peculiar as the statement may sound to 
those born long after the troublesome times of 1774. 

Pennsylvania accused our royal governor of being 
a land-grabber and the catspaw or partner of land- 
speculators. His Lordship was interested in land- 
speculation and so were many prominent Virginians. 
It is also true that claims under Virginia patents 
would be worthless if Pennsylvania controlled the 
junction of the Monongahela and the Alleghany 
Rivers and sustained her claims to the surrounding 
country. 

It is another fact that it was the rifles of Virginia 
which protected that outlying region, and that many 
of the settlers in the disputed territory preferred 
Virginia control. Every one realized that should 
our militia push the Indians back and win a decisive 
victory our claims would be immensely strength- 
ened. And through Doctor Connolly we were al- 
ready handling affairs at Fort Pitt. 

Because of these and other facts there was an 
excellent chance for an intercolonial war. I am of 
the strong opinion that an armed clash between the 
hotheads of the two provinces would have resulted 
if not for the intervention of the Indian war. 

At the beginning of hostilities the Indians pro- 
claimed they would whip Pennsylvania and would 
roast Virginians. However, when Benjamin Speare, 
his wife and six children were massacred on Dun- 


8 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


kard Creek early in June, with similar bloody mur- 
ders being perpetrated at Muddy Creek, all on Penn- 
sylvania soil, by John Logan, the Mingo chief, there 
was less foolish talk north of the line. 

All these thoughts of raids and reprisals, of white 
striving to outdo red in cruelty, may seem to har- 
monize but ill with that soft June morning, the flight 
of the redstart, the song of the oriole and the impish 
chatter of the squirrels. Beech and oak urged one 
to rest in the shade; the limpid waters of the river 
called for one to strip and bathe. 

To heed either invitation incautiously invited the 
war-ax to be buried in the head. However, we of 
the border always had had the Indian trouble, and 
each generation had taken its pleasure with a wary 
eye and ready weapons. Although the times were 
very dangerous and I was serving as scout for thir- 
ty-three cents a day I could still enjoy the sweet 
aromas and sympathize with the song of birds and 
yet keep an eye and ear open for that which con- 
cerned my life. 

In ascending the Monongahela I had seen many 
settlers crossing the river to make the eastern settle- 
ments. I was told that a thousand men, women 
and children had crossed during the space of twen- 
ty-four hours. Down on the Clinch and Holston 
the settlers were either “forting” or fleeing. 

Much of this retirement was compelled by the sad 
lack of powder and lead, even of guns. More 


THREE TRAVELERS 


9 


than one settler depended entirely upon ax or scythe 
for protection. Such were prevented from using 
the advantage of their stout walls and could do the 
foe no mischief until after the door had been bat- 
tered down, when of course all the advantage shifted 
to the side of the invader. 

By this I do not mean to disparage such tools as 
implements of war. A sturdy fellow with both 
hands gripping a scythe can do an amazing amount 
of damage at close quarters, as more than one 
Shawnee war-party has learned. 

Briefly summed up, there were dissensions be- 
tween some of the colonies over the land-disputes; 
sparks were flying between the colonies and the 
mother-country; every day brought gruesome news 
from the back-country; there was a scarcity of guns 
and ammunition ; militia captains were eagerly steal- 
ing one another’s men to fill their quotas. 

Yet regardless of all these troubles let it be under- 
stood that for once the borders welcomed war and 
insisted upon it. As early as March, a month be- 
fore the Pipe and Yellow Creek outrages, the Will- 
iamsburg Gazette printed an address to Lord Dun- 
more, stating that “an immediate declaration of war 
was necessary, nay inevitable.” Not only did the 
whites want the war, but the natives also were eager 
for it. 

But enough of whys and wherefores, as they make 
poor story-telling, and leave me, Basdel Morris, 


10 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


overlong in quitting the thicket about my tree. And 
yet the wise man always looks backward as well as 
forward when entering on a trail, and children yet 
unborn may blaze a better trace if they understand 
what lies behind them. 

I ate my breakfast there in the thick growth, pack- 
ing my hungry mouth with parched corn and top- 
ping off with a promise of turkey, once I drew 
beyond the danger-belt. Trying to make myself 
believe my appetite was satisfied, I began the deli- 
cate task of leaving cover without leaving any 
signs. My horse was a fourth of a mile from my 
tree, so that in finding him the Indians would not 
find me. 

The river sang a drowsy song a short distance 
from my tree and down a gentle slope. I knew of a 
spring beneath its bank, and I was impatient to taste 
its cold waters. I moved toward it slowly, deter- 
mined that if an Indian ever secured my long black 
hair it would not be because he caught me off my 
guard. With ears and eyes I scouted the river- 
bank. 

The flights and songs of birds and the boisterous 
chatter of the squirrels now became so many helps. 
There were no intruders in the grove of beech. 
There was no one between me and the river. At 
last I passed under some overhanging boughs and 
slipped down the bank to the water’s edge. 

Once more I searched both banks of the river, the 


THREE TRAVELERS 


ii 


Cheat, and then ventured to drink. Like an animal 
I drank a swallow, then threw up my head and 
glanced about. It took me some time to drink my 
fill, but I was not tomahawked while at the spring. 
At last I was convinced I had the bank to myself; 
and satisfied that the screen of overhanging boughs 
screened me from any canoe turning a bend up- or 
down-stream I removed my clothes and very softly 
slipped into the water. 

There could be no hilarious splashing nor swim- 
ming, but the silent immersion was most refreshing. 
It was while supine on my back with only my nose 
and toes above water that I received my first alarm 
for that morning. My position being recumbent I 
was staring up at the sky and in the direction of up- 
stream, and I saw a speck. 

It was circling and from the west a smaller speck 
was hastening eastward. A third tiny speck showed 
on the southern sky-line. Turkey-buzzards. The 
one circling had sighted dead beast or man. The 
others had seen the discoverer’s maneuvers adver- 
tising his good luck; and now each scavenger in 
hastening to the feast drew other scavengers after 
him. 

I crawled ashore and hurriedly began slipping 
into my few garments. I drew on my breeches and 
paused for a moment to part the shrubbery and stare 
into the sky. I was startled to observe the buzzards 
— there were three of them now — were much 


12 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


nearer, as if following something. I pulled on my 
leggings and finished fitting my moccasins care- 
fully about the ankles to keep out all dust and dirt 
and took my second look. 

The buzzards were five, and in making their wide 
circles they had again cut down the distance. Then 
it dawned upon me that they were following some- 
thing in the river. I watched the bend, the buz- 
zards ever circling nearer, their numbers continually 
being augmented by fresh arrivals. At last it came 
in sight — a canoe containing one man. 

Hastily drying my hands on my hunting-shirt, I 
picked up my rifle and drew a bead on the distant 
figure. The man was an Indian and was allowing 
the canoe to drift. But why should the turkey-buz- 
zards follow him ? As I pondered over this problem 
and waited to learn whether he be friendly or hostile, 
there came the spang of a rifle from my side of the 
river and above me. 

A second shot quickly followed and I thought the 
figure in the canoe lurched to one side a bit. Still 
there was no attempt made to use the paddle. The 
shrill ear-splitting scream of a panther rang out, and 
this like the two shots was on my side of the river. 
That the Indian made no move to escape was inex- 
plicable unless the first shot had killed him outright. 

The canoe was deflected toward my hiding-place, 
and I expected to hear another brace of shots from 
above me. But there was no more shooting, and 


THREE TRAVELERS 


13 


the canoe swung in close enough for me to observe 
the Indian was holding something between his teeth. 
I now recognized him as a friendly native, a Dela- 
ware; and anxious to protect him from those lurk- 
ing on the bank I showed myself and softly called: 

“Bald Eagle is in danger! Paddle in here.” 

He paid no attention to my greeting, although the 
canoe continued its approach until it grounded 
against the bank. I slipped down to the water to 
urge him to come ashore and take cover. He was 
a well-known chief, and for years very friendly to 
the whites. The thing he held in his mouth was a 
piece of journey-cake, only he was not eating it as I 
had first supposed. As I gained the canoe I noticed 
a paddle placed across it so as to support his back, 
and another so braced as to prop up his head. 

The man was dead. There was a hideous wound 
at the back of his head. He had been struck down 
with an ax. While I was weighing this gruesome 
discovery the scream of the panther rang out again 
and close by, and the bushes parted and I wheeled in 
time to strike up a double-barrel rifle a young man 
was aiming at the chief. 

“You’ve fired at him twice already, Shelby 
Cousin,” I angrily rebuked. “Isn’t that about 
enough ?” 

“Nothin’ ain’t ’nough till I git his sculp,” was the 
grim reply; and Cousin, scarcely more than a boy, 
endeavored to knock my rifle aside. 


14 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


“At least you ought to kill before you scalp,” I 
said. 

His lips parted and his eyes screwed up into a per- 
plexed frown and he dropped the butt of his rifle to 
the ground. Holding the barrels with both hands, 
he stared down at the dead man. 

“Some one bu’sted him with a 5 ax most vastly,” he 
muttered. “An’ me wastin’ two shoots o’ powder 
on the skunk!” 

“Without bothering to notice the turkey-buzzards 
that have been following him down the river,” I 
said. 

He looked sheepish and defended himself: 

“The cover was too thick to see anything over- 
head.” 

“He was a friend to the whites. He has been 
murdered. His killer struck him down from behind. 
As if murder wasn’t bad enough, his killer tried to 
make a joke of it by stuffing journey-cake in his 
mouth. The cake alone would tell every red who 
sees him that a white man killed him.” 

“Only trouble with the joke is that there ain’t a 
couple o’ him,” hissed young Cousin. “But the fel- 
lor who played this joke owes me two shoots of 
powder. I ’low he’ll pay me.” 

“You know who he is?” 

“Seen Lige Runner up along. I ’low it will be 
him. Him an’ me look on Injuns just the same 
way.” 


THREE TRAVELERS 


15 


“It’s fellows like him and Joshua Baker and Dan- 
iel Greathouse who bring trouble to the settlements/' 
I said. 

His face was as hard as a mask of stone as he 
looked at me. His eyes, which should have glowed 
with the amiable fires of youth, were as implacably 
baleful as those of a mad wolf. 

“You don’t go for to figger me in with Baker an' 
Greathouse?” he fiercely demanded. 

“I know your story. It wouldn’t be just to rank 
you with them.” 

“Mebbe it’s my story what turns other men ag’in’ 
these critters,” he coldly suggested. “There was a 
time when I had a daddy. He talked like you do. 
He called some o’ the red devils his friends. He be- 
lieved in ’em, too. Cornstalk, the Shawnee devil, 
was his good friend. 

“Daddy an’ mammy ’lowed we could live on Kee- 
ney’s Knob till all git-out bu’sted up an’ never have 
no trouble with friendly Injuns. That was ten 
years ago. I was eight years old. Then Cornstalk 
made his last visit. Daddy had just brought in 
some deer meat. Made a feast for th’ bloody devils. 

“I happened to be out in the woods when it was 
done. Or, happen like, I’d ’a’ gone along t’others. 
There’s two things that’ll make me hunt Cornstalk 
an’ his Shawnees to the back-country o’ hell — my 
little sister, an’ their overlookin’ to wipe me out.” 

He turned and stood by the canoe, glaring down 


i6 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


at the dead man. All Virginia was familiar with 
the terrible story of the Cousin massacre at Keeney’s 
Knob. Fully as tragic and horrible to me, perhaps, 
was the terrible change in the only survivor. He be- 
came an Injun-killer as soon as he was able to handle 
a rifle; and a Virginia boy of twelve was ashamed 
when he failed to bring down his squirrel shot 
through the head. 

At eighteen Cousin was hated and feared by the 
Ohio tribes. He was not content to wait for Shaw- 
nee and Mingo to cross the river, but made frequent 
and extremely hazardous trips into their country. 
His panther-scream had rung out more than once 
near the Scioto villages to proclaim a kill. 

Isaac Crabtree was a killer, but his hate did not 
make him rash. Jesse Hughes would have been one 
of our best border scouts if not for his insane hatred 
of Indians. He killed them whenever he met them ; 
nor did he, like Crabtree, wait until the advantage 
was all on his side before striking. William White, 
William Hacker and John Cutright massacred five 
inoffensive Indian families at Bulltown on the Little 
Kanawha as a reprisal for the Stroud family, slain 
on Elk River. 

Elijah Runner, who Cousin believed had killed 
Bald Eagle, was yet another with an insatiable thirst 
for red blood. Many others were notorious In j un- 
killers. Some were border ruffians; some were 
driven to the limits of hate because of scenes they 


THREE TRAVELERS 


17 

had witnessed or losses they had suffered. But none 
was like Shelby Cousin. 

Other killers would drink and make merry at 
times, keeping their hate in the background until a 
victim appeared. Young Cousin carried his hate in 
his face as well as in his heart at all times. There 
was nothing on earth, so far as I ever learned, no 
friendships, no maiden's smile, which could divert 
him from the one consuming passion of his life. 

His mention of his sister revealed the deepest 
depth of his anguish. His parents were beyond all 
suffering and the need of pity. His sister, a year 
older than he, had been carried off. The pursuers 
found her clothing by a creek near the ruined cabin ; 
but it had never been proved that she was dead. It 
was this, the uncertainty of her fate, which daily fed 
the boy's hate and drove him to the forest, where he 
sought to learn the truth and never relinquished an 
opportunity to take his revenge. 

“If Lige Runner done for him he sure did a good 
job," Cousin muttered. “He sure did make toma- 
hawk improvements on him."* 

“You never kill in or near the settlements as some 
of them do," I said. 

His eyes closed and what should have been a 

♦Tomahawk improvements. Settlers often took possession 
by blazing trees with axes and carving their names thereon. 
Such entry to land was not legal, but usually was recognized 
and later made valid by legal process. Such was the claim 
made to the site of modern Wheeling, West Virginia, by 
Ebenezer Silas, and Jonathan Zane in 1 77°* 


i8 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


rarely handsome boyish face, a face to stir the heart 
of any maiden to beating faster, was distorted with 
the pain he was keeping clamped down behind his 
clenched teeth. 

“That’s only because o’ what I seen at Keeney’s 
Knob,” he hoarsely whispered. “When I meet one 
of ’em in a settlement I skedaddle afore I lose my 
grip. I mustn’t do anything that’ll fetch a parcel of 
’em down to cany off some other feller’s little sis- 
ter. If I know’d she was dead ” 

“If you’d stop killing long enough to question 
some of the Shawnees you might learn the truth.” 

He shook his head slowly, and said : 

“I stopped — just afore the killin’ at Baker’s Bot- 
tom. Kept my Injun alive all night. But he 
wouldn’t tell.” 

I shuddered at the cold-bloodedness of him. 

“You tortured him and perhaps he knew nothing 
to tell,” I said. 

“If he didn’t know nothin’ it was hard luck for 
him,” he quietly agreed. “But I was sartain from 
things he had boasted that he was at the Knob that 
day. What you goin’ to do with this varmint?” 

And he nodded toward the dead voyager. 

“My business won’t allow me to take the time 
necessary to dig a grave where his friends can’t find 
him or wild animals dig him out. We’ll set him 
afloat again and hope he’ll journey far down the 


THREE TRAVELERS 19 

river before his friends find him. He was friendly 
to us ” 

“Friendly ” interrupted the boy. “So was 

Cornstalk friendly !” 

I removed the journey-cake from the grinning 
mouth and placed the rigid figure in the bottom of 
the canoe. Before I could push the craft into the 
current young Cousin grunted with satisfaction and 
pointed to two bullet-holes, close together, just back 
of the ear. 

“Knew I must hit pretty close to where I was 
shootin’,” he muttered as he made up the bank. 

I shoved the canoe from shore and called after 
him: “If you will wait until I get my horse we 
might travel together.” 

He waved his hand in farewell and informed me : 
“I’ve got some business west o’ here. It’s out o’ 
your path if you’re makin’ for the Greenbriar.” 

“But a bit of gossip. I’m just back from Fort 
Pitt,” I said. 

He halted and leaned on his rifle and stared at 
me with lack-luster eyes, and in a monotonous voice 
said : 

“Ed Sharpe, Dick Stanton, Eph Drake an’ Bill 
Harrel are scoutin’ the head o’ Powell’s Valley. 
Wanted me to go but the signs wa’n’t promisin’ 
’nough. Logan says he’ll take ten sculps for one. 
He still thinks Michael Cresap led the killin’ at 
Baker’s — an’ Cresap was at Red Stone when it hap- 


20 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


pened. Cresap wants to be mighty keerful he don’t 
fall into Logan’s hands alive. 

“Half the folks on the South Fork o’ the Clinch 
can’t raise five shoots o’ powder. Folks on Rye 
Cove been movin’ over to the Holston, leavin’ their 
cattle behind. Mebbe I’ll scout over that way by ’n’ 
by. 

“Augusta boys ain’t goin’ to have any man in 
their militia company that stands under six feet in 
his moccasins. Folks between the heads o’ Blue- 
stone an’ Clinch so skeered they prob’ly won’t stay 
to lay by their corn. Injuns signs up Sandy Creek 
has made some o’ Moccasin an’ Copper Creek folks 
come off. I ’low that’s ’bout all.” 

“Any signs of the Cherokees coming in?” 

“Some says they will. T’others says they won’t. 
Sort o’ depends on whether they can keep Ike Crab- 
tree from killin’ of ’em off.” 

He threw his rifle over his shoulder and with a 
curt nod turned into the bushes and followed the 
bank to find a crossing. He was away on his fear- 
ful business; his youth was hopelessly corroded. 

I scouted the spot where I had left my horse and 
discovered no signs of Indians. Unspanceling and 
mounting, I picked up my journey. I was passing 
through a mountainous country which contained 
many large meadows. These pleasant openings 
would accommodate many cattle if not for the In- 
dian danger. They were thick with grass and 


THREE TRAVELERS 


21 


enough hay could be cured on them to feed large 
herds throughout the winter. 

The bottom-lands, although smaller, were very 
rich. Along the hillsides I had no doubt but that 
grain could easily be grown. Altogether it was a 
most pleasing country if lasting peace ever could 
come to the border. While I observed the natural 
advantages and fancied the glades and bottoms dot- 
ted with happy cabins, I did not forget the dead 
Delaware floating down the river, nor ignore the 
probability of some of his kin discovering the mur- 
der before sundown and taking the path for 
reprisals. 

There was no suggestion of war in the warm 
sunshine and busy woods-life. Birds rejoiced in 
their matings, and the air was most gracious with 
the perfume of growing things. The stirring op- 
timism of spring lingered with me. My heart was 
warm to rejoin old friends, to enjoy women’s com- 
pany ; but never a moment did I neglect to scrutinize 
the trace ahead. 

The day passed with no hint of danger. I had 
the world to myself when the sun was cradled by 
the western ridges. I found it a wonderful world, 
and I believed it was never intended that any race 
of savages, whites or red, should hold such fair 
lands for hunting-preserves only. 

That night, according to my custom, I spanceled 
my horse at a considerable distance from my camp. 


22 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


I had selected a spot on top of a ridge, where the 
maples and walnuts grew thick. I perched a turkey 
in the gloaming and roasted him over a small fire. 
Having eaten, I walked to the edge of the growth 
and gazed toward the west. Across the valley a 
light suddenly twinkled on the side of a ridge. I 
first thought that hunters were camping there ; and 
as the light increased to a bright blaze I decided 
there was a large company of them and that they 
had no fear of Indians. 

But as I watched the flames grew higher. What 
had been a white light became a ruddy light. The 
fire spread on both sides. My heart began to pound 
and I tilted my head to listen. The distance was too 
far for me to hear tell-tale sounds, still I fancied I 
could hear the yelling of demons dancing around a 
burning cabin. 

A dead man floating down the river; a boy seek- 
ing vengeance somewhere near the blazing home, 
and a scout for Virginia traveling toward the 
Greenbriar. 


CHAPTER II 


INDIAN-HATERS 

T JOURNEYED up the Cheat and left its head 
waters and proceeded down the Greenbriar with- 
out observing any signs of the red peril which was 
creeping upon the country. A great gray eagle, 
poised at the apex of my upturned gaze, appeared to 
be absolutely stationary; a little brown flycatcher, 
darting across my path, made much commotion. 
Red-crested woodpeckers hammered industriously 
in dead wood for rations. So long as their tappings 
resounded ahead of me I feared no ambush. 

Wherever nut-trees stood the squirrels made more 
noise than did the House of Burgesses when dis- 
solved by Governor Dunmore for expressing revo- 
lutionary sentiments. A most gracious country, 
and because of its fairness, most fearfully beset. 
That which is worthless needs no sentinels. I met 
with no humans, white or red; but when within a 
few miles of Patrick Davis’ home on Howard 
Creek I came upon a spot where three Indians had 
eaten their breakfast that very morning. 

I knew they must be friendly to the whites as 
23 


24 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


they had not attempted to hide their temporary 
camp. They had departed in the direction of the 
creek, which also was my destination. I planned 
resting there over night and then crossing the main 
ridge of the Alleghanies during the next day, stop- 
ping the night with the Greenwood family on Dun- 
lap’s Creek. 

Thence it would be an easy ride to Salem where 
I would find Colonel Andrew Lewis, commander 
of the county militia. I hoped he would provide a 
messenger for forwarding my despatches to Gov- 
ernor Dunmore in Williamsburg. I had no desire 
to visit the seat of government, nor was my disin- 
clination due to the bustle and confusion of its more 
than a thousand inhabitants. 

A mile from where the Indians had camped I 
came upon two white men. They were at one side 
of the trace and curiously busy among some rocks 
at the top of a fifty-foot cliff. They were hauling 
a rope from a deep crack or crevice in the rocks and 
were making hard work of it. 

We discovered each other at the same moment, 
and they called on me to lend them a hand. Leav- 
ing my horse in the trace, I hastened over the rough 
ground to learn what they wanted. As I drew 
nearer I recognized them as Jacob Scott and Will- 
iam Hacker, confirmed “Injun-haters.” 

“How d’ye do, Morris,” greeted Hacker. “Catch 
hold here and help haul him up.” 


INDIAN-HATERS 


25 

“Who is it?” I asked, seizing the rope which was 
composed of leather belts and spancel-ropes. 

“Lige Runner,” grunted Hacker, digging in his 
heels and pulling in the rope hand over hand. Run- 
ner, as I have said, was another implacable foe of 
all red men. 

“All together!” panted Scott. 

My contribution of muscle soon brought Run- 
ner's head into view. We held the rope taut while 
he dragged himself on to the ledge. 

“Did you git it?” eagerly demanded Hacker. 

The triumphant grin was surety for his success 
down the crevice. He rose and tapped a fresh scalp 
dangling at his belt. 

“I got it,” he grimly replied. “Had to follow 
him most to the bottom where his carcass was 
wedged between the rocks. Morning, Morris. 
Traveling far? Seen any Injun-signs on the 
way ?” 

I shook my head, preferring they should not 
learn about the three Indians making for Howard's 
Creek. 

“What does all this mean, Runner? Do scalps 
grow at the bottom of holes ?” 

“This one seemed to,” he answered with a deep 
chuckle. “Didn’t git a fair crack at him, as he was 
running mighty cute. Rifle held fire the nick of a 
second too long. I knew he was mortal hit, but he 
managed to reach this hole. Then the skunk jumped 


26 A VIRGINIA SCOUT 

in a-purpose to make us all this bother to git his 
scalp.” 

“Who was he?” 

“Don’t know. He was a good hundred and fifty 
yards away and going like a streak when I plugged 
him. It’s too dark down in the hole to see any- 
thing.” 

“For all you know he was a friendly.” 

“We never see no friendlies,” Hacker grimly 
reminded. 

“ ’Cept when they’re dead,” ironically added 
Scott. “Our eyesight’s terribly poor when they’re 
alive.” 

“I call it dirty business. I wouldn’t have hauled 
on the rope if I had known.” 

Runner lowered at me and growled: 

“You’re too finicky. A’ Injun is a’ Injun. Soon- 
er they’re all dead, the better. I kill ’em quicker’n 
I would a rattlesnake. A rattler gives notice when 
he’s going to strike.” 

“If you’ve killed a friendly this work will cause 
much suffering among the outlying cabins.” 

“Bah! If we took good com cakes and honey to 
the red devils they’d kill us every chance they got. 
We ain’t forgitting what happened at Keeney’s 
Knob, at the Clendennin farm on the Greenbriar; 
nor the scores of killings up in Tygart’s Valley, and 
in other places. Give ’em the pewter every chance 
you can ! That’s my religion.” 


INDIAN-HATERS 


27 

“That’s the talk, Lige!” cried Scott. “Ike Crab- 
tree would ’a’ liked to been in this fun.” 

“He’ll feel cut up when he hears about our luck,” 
said Hacker. 

“Crabtree’s feelings do him credit,” added Run- 
ner. “But his natural hankering to raise hair is 
stronger’n his courage when he thinks there’s 
more’n one Injun to dicker with. Young Shelby 
Cousin would be the best one for this business if it 
wa’n’t for his fool notions about killing near a set- 
tlement.” 

“Cousin says you killed old Bald Eagle. I saw 
the Delaware floating down the Cheat in his canoe.” 

Runner laughed in huge delight, and cried : 

“The world’s mighty small after all. Ain’t it the 
truth! So you seen him? Did he have the chunk 
of johnny-cake in his meat-trap?” 

“He was friendly to the whites and harmless. It 
was a poor piece of work.” 

“The reason why we didn’t sculp him was that it 
would ’a’ spoiled the joke,” defended Hacker. 
“With his hair on and the johnny-cake in his mouth, 
folks would think he was still alive till they got 
real close.” 

“The three of us done that,” informed Scott, as 
though jealous of Runner’s receiving all the credit. 

“Morris means it was a poor job because the chief 
was said to be friendly to white folks,” explained 
Runner, scowling at me. 


28 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


“Morris, you’d better go up to David’s and tell 
Ike Crabtree that,” jeered Hacker. 

“Crabtree is there, is he ?” I said, deeply concerned 
for the safety of the three Indians. 

“He started for there. He’ll feel mighty well cut 
up when he hears about us and this Injun in the 
hole,” gravely declared Scott. 

“How many cabins on Howard’s Creek now?” I 
asked; for a cabin could be put up in a few hours 
and the population at any point might greatly in- 
crease in the space of twenty-four hours. I had no 
desire to quarrel with the three men, and I realized 
that there was nothing I could say which would 
change their natures, or make them act in a human 
manner toward friendly Indians. 

Runner was inclined to harbor resentment and 
refused to answer me. Hacker, however, readily 
informed me: 

“There was five when I come through there last. 
With outlying settlers pouring in, there may be a 
dozen by this time. All I know is that the. call’s 
gone out for fifteen or twenty miles, asking every 
one to come in to the big log-rolling. 

“Davis and t’others swear they won’t come off the 
creek till they’ve harvested their corn. So they’re 
going to have a rolling and build a fort and stick it 
out. We fellers reckon we’ll go up there and have 
a hand in the fun-making.” 

“Up near the Pennsylvania line and west of the 


INDIAN-HATERS 


29 


Cheat a cabin was burned a few nights ago,” I said, 
hoping they might feel disposed to scout north in 
search of Indians who were not friendly. 

If the trio should go to Howard’s Creek and hap- 
pen upon the three Indians I feared that nothing 
could prevent another ghastly affair. Possibly 
Crabtree already had struck, but I hoped not. The 
men were interested in my news and listened closely. 
I continued : 

“It was a cabin. I know that, although I was too 
far away to investigate. I have a notion that young 
Cousin was somewhere near it when it burned.” 

“Then you can bet the young cuss gave his pan- 
ther-screech and made his kill,” exclaimed Scott. 

“If you men want to do the settlers on Howard’s 
Creek a good turn you might scout up there and 
look for signs.” 

“I ’low the signs wouldn’t be very fresh now,” 
said Runner. “Show me a fresh footing and I’m 
keen to follow it. But just looking round after the 
skunks move on ain’t my notion of a good time.” 

“I ’low Lige is right,” decided Hacker. “If the 
reds was there a few nights ago they may be down 
this way by this time. Either that or they’ve 
sneaked back across the Ohio. I ’low there’ll be 
more up to the creek.” 

“That’s my notion,” chimed in Scott. “Show us 
fresh signs and we’re like good dogs on the scent. 
We’d better go to the rollin’.” 


30 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


“There's many Indians who need killing badly,” 
I said. “But if you men persist in killing friendly 
Indians we’ll have the Delawares joining in with 
the Shawnees and Mingos.” 

“We don’t hanker for any more Moravian mis- 
sionary talk,” coldly warned Runner. “As for the 
Delawares dipping into the dish, let ’em come. Let 
’em all come together! The sooner we smoke their 
bacon, the sooner the Holston and Clinch and Ty- 
gart’s Valley will be safe for our women and chil- 
dren. As for that old cuss of a Bald Eagle, we’re 
right glad you seen him. It shows others will see 
him. That’s the sort of a notice we’re serving on 
every red-skin in Virginia.” 

It was obvious they would not relinquish their 
plan of visiting Howard’s Creek, and it was equally 
plain they preferred to travel without my company. 
So I returned to the trace and mounted and rode on. 

As I neared the creek I came upon several set- 
tlers hurrying in from their isolated cabins, and I 
was pleased to see they had taken time to collect 
their few cattle and bring them along. Of the 
five men I talked with there were only two who had 
guns. The others were armed with axes and big 
clubs of oak. 

One lean fellow carried a long sapling to the end 
of which he had made fast a long butcher-knife. 
One of the gunmen said to me that he hoped there 
would be “a lively chunk of a fight” although he 


INDIAN-HATERS 


3i 


and his friend had only one charge of powder apiece. 
These two were young men, and like many of their 
generation they imitated the Indian to the extent 
of wearing thigh-leggings and breech-clouts. 

The ends of the latter were passed through the 
belt in front and behind, and were allowed to hang 
down in flaps. These flaps were decorated with 
crude beadwork. Around their heads they wore red 
kerchiefs. Two of the older men had wives. These 
women would impress a resident of the seacoast as 
being stolid of face. 

In reality the continuous apprehension of an In- 
dian raid had frozen their features into a wooden 
expression. Their eyes were alive enough. I 
counted ten children, six of whom were girls. I do 
not think one of the youngsters was more than 
twelve years old. 

The boys were continually bemoaning their lack 
of guns. The girls seemed happy over the adven- 
ture and prattled a stream about the new people 
they would see at the creek. I think every one of 
them had brought along a doll made from rags, 
corn-cobs or wood. The maternal was very strong 
in their stout little hearts. 

One flaxen-haired miss consented to ride before 
me after my solemnly assuring her that horseback 
travel would not make her dollie sick. She shyly 
confessed her great joy in attending “rollin’s.” Her 
folks, she said, had not been invited to the last 


32 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


“rollm’,” although they lived within fifteen miles of 
it; and her daddy and mammy had been greatly 
incensed. 

But this, fortunately, was a bee where no one 
waited to be invited, each settler, living far or near, 
having an equal equity in the work. Long before 
we reached the scene of activities we heard the loud 
voices of the men, the hilarious cries of young folks 
and the barking of several dogs. My little com- 
panion twisted nervously, her blue eyes wide with 
excitement. Then she was sliding from the horse 
and with her doll clutched to her side, was scamper- 
ing ahead with the others. 

Then we grown-ups reached the edge of the 
clearing. Hacker had reported five cabins. Now 
there were seven, and if the people continued to ar- 
rive there must soon be twice that number. At the 
first of it the overflow would take up quarters 
among those already housed, or in the fort when it 
was finished. 

Ordinarily a settler girdled his trees and chopped 
them down when they were dead, and then burned 
them into long logs. Not until the trees were down 
and burned into suitable lengths were invitations to 
the rolling sent out. As this was an emergency roll- 
ing the usual custom could not be followed. 

Some of the dead trees were being burned into 
sections with small fires built on top and pressed 
against the wood by butt-ends of logs we called 


INDIAN-HATERS 


33 


nigger-heads. Boys and girls were feeding small 
fuel to these fires. Charred logs left over from 
former rollings were being yanked out and built into 
the walls of the fort. As not enough seasoned tim- 
ber was available for such a large structure green 
logs were being utilized. 

The settlers behind me handed their two guns, 
clubs and other belongings over to the small boys, 
and with a nod and a word of greeting joined the 
workers. The women and girls looked after the 
cattle. Those of the women who were not working 
among the logs were busy in the cabins cooking large 
quantities of food, for we ate marvelously in those 
old days. 

As in peaceful times, when a happy home was to 
evolve from the “rollin*,” the usual pot-pie, com- 
posed of boiled grouse, pigeon and venison, and al- 
ways with dumplings, was the principal dish of the 
feasting. On a stump, accessible to all who needed 
it, rested a squat jug containing rum. 

I turned my horse loose near the fort and sought 
out Davis. He was inside the fort, superintending 
the work. The walls of this were well up. As the 
first need was shelter, and as the Indians might 
strike at any moment, no time was lost with a punch- 
eon floor. The earth must do until the men could 
have a breathing-spell. Four tight walls and a stout 
roof was the best they could hope for.. 

Davis paused long enough to inform me that if 


34 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


time permitted they would build the fort two stories 
high and stockade it with twelve-foot posts. From 
his worried expression and obvious anxiety to get 
back to his work I did not believe he had any hope 
of building more than a one-story shell. 

When the Indians struck they would strike with 
a rush. They would plan on a quick assault taking 
the settlers by surprise. They dared not remain to 
conduct a prolonged siege. The fort when com- 
pleted would not be any stronger than the average 
cabin; it would simply accommodate more defend- 
ers. 

The nearest water was a spring some twenty 
yards from the fort. This failure to provide for a 
water-supply was an amazing characteristic of 
many frontier defenses. There was no reason why 
the fort should not have been built close by the 
spring, or even over it. I said as much to Davis, 
but he defended: 

“It would place us too near the woods. Their 
fire-arrows could fall on us too easy.” 

I reminded him that as the fort was now they 
would have but little water to extinguish a fire, 
whereas the spring would have afforded an inex- 
haustible supply. However, it was too late to change 
their plans and I volunteered to collect kettles and 
tubs and organize a water-squad so there might be 
plenty of water in the fort each night. 

“Might be a good plan,” agreed Davis. “But I 


INDIAN-HATERS 


35 

’low if the Injuns come it’ll be all over, one way or 
t’other, afore we have time to git thirsty.” 

I briefly explained to Davis my business as 
despatch-bearer, so he might understand my reason 
for departing in the morning. He was generous 
enough to insist that I ran a greater risk in crossing 
the mountains alone than I would encounter by re- 
maining at the creek. 

I left him and levied on kettles to be delivered 
after supper and then returned to the fort. I had 
barely arrived when the dogs began barking and 
several horses came running through the stumps 
from the north end of the clearing. Before the 
alarm could find expression in shouts and a sem- 
blance of defense a deep voice called from the 
woods : 

“White men! Friends! Hacker, Scott and 
Runner.” 

A rousing cheer greeted these newcomers, and 
one enthusiast grabbed up the jug and ran to meet 
them. Each of the three drank deeply and were re- 
warded with more cheers. If they were murderous 
in their hatred they would be stout defenders. As 
for their attitude toward all Indians, there were but 
few along the border who did not have some cause 
for hating the natives. 

This sentiment of the frontier was shown when 
Henry Judah, arrested for killing some friendly In- 
dians on the South Branch, was rescued by two 


36 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


hundred pioneers. After his irons were knocked 
off the settlers warned the authorities it would not 
be well to place him in custody a second time. Nor 
was Judah the only man thus snatched from the 
law. 

Men like Hacker and his companions would do 
very little manual labor. They did not build homes, 
but were always roaming about the country. This 
trait was of value to men of the Davis type, 
inasmuch as the killers brought in much game when 
the home-makers were busy with their cabins or 
planting. 

“Any news, Lige?” bawled Davis, his deep voice 
booming across the clearing and overriding the 
clamorous welcome of his neighbors. 

“Found some footing and hoss-tracks,” Runner 
yelled back. 

“They’ll be coming this way, the yaller dogs, and 
we’re here to rub ’em up a bit !” boasted Scott. 

“Jesse Hughes oughter be here,” said one of the 
men who was notching the long logs. 

“He’ll be along if there’s promise of a fight,” as- 
sured Hacker. “Young Cousin and Ike Crabtree, 
too.” 

“I ’low them red devils would skin back to the 
Ohio like a burned cat if they know’d you boys was 
after ’em!” cried Widow McCabe, who was as 
strong as the average man and could swing an ax 
with the best of them. Her husband was killed on 


INDIAN-HATERS 


37 

the Kanawha the year before, and her hatred of 
Indians was as intense as that of any killer. 

“They’ll sure know they’ve met with some trou- 
ble, Missus,” modestly admitted Hacker. 

The three $ien seated themselves on a knoll and 
watched the busy scene. I joined them and in- 
quired about the footing they had observed. Scott 
informed me they had followed the trail toward the 
creek and then lost it. 

“It was a small party of scouts, mebbe not more’n 
three,” he said. “We sort o’ reckon that they 
’lowed they might be followed and so took to water. 
We ’lowed it was best to hustle along here and git 
in front of the fighting, instead o’ losing time trying 
to find where they quit the creek. You’re sticking 
along, we ’low.” 

“No need with all you men. I must carry my 
despatches over the mountains to-morrow.” 

“Better think twice afore trying it alone. By to- 
morrow the mountain trace will probably be shut in 
by the reds,” declared Hacker ominously. 

“Then I must take my chances of breaking across 
country. His Lordship must have the despatches at 
the earliest possible minute.” 

“Of course,” Runner agreed. “Wish you luck 
even if you got a Quaker stomick when it comes to 
killing the vermin. But if you want to git across 
you’d better start at once. Them two or three 
scouts shows the devils are closing in. Every hour 


38 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


saved now means a dozen more chances for your 
hair to grow.” 

As I believed the footing the fellows found was 
left by the three Indians I had pronounced to be 
friendly, I was not much exercised in my mind by 
the warning. I did not believe the Indians would 
seek to cut off the settlement. They must strike 
and be off, and they would prefer to have the set- 
tlers in flight over the mountains, with the inevit- 
able stragglers easily cut off, than to have them 
stubbornly remaining in the cabins and fort. 

If time was not vital, and providing the Shawnees 
could bring a large force, then an encircling move- 
ment would be their game. But Cornstalk and 
Logan would not lead a big force into any of the 
valleys. They knew as well as the whites that the 
war was to be won by one decisive battle. 

These isolated raids up and down the western 
valleys were simply of value in that they might un- 
nerve the settlers and keep them from leaving their 
cabins to join the army Dunmore proposed to send 
against the Shawnee towns. And last of all I was 
fagged by my long ride and would have one night’s 
unworried sleep, let the risk be ever so great. 

The dinner, much belated, was now ready, and the 
workers were asked to assemble in and around the 
Davis cabin. Four men were left to do sentinel 
duty, and the children were told to keep on with 
their work and play as they would be served after 


INDIAN-HATERS 


39 


the men had eaten. Huge pot-pies were hurried 
from all the cabins to where the backwoodsmen 
were waiting to prove their appetites. 

Several jugs of rum garnished the feast. The 
Widow McCabe contributed a scanty stock of tea, 
but the men would have none of it on the grounds 
that it did not “stick to the ribs.” 

My helping of pie was served on a huge china 
plate that had been packed over the mountains with 
much trouble and when every inch of room was 
needed for the bare necessities. Thus tenacious 
were the women in coming to this raw country to 
preserve their womanliness. I might have thought 
I was being favored had not Mrs. Davis frankly in- 
formed me that her few pieces of china were 
shunned by her men-folks on the plea the ware 
“dulled their sculping-knives.” 

Finishing my meal, I seated myself on a stump 
and proceeded to remove my moccasins and mend 
them. Davis joined me in a similar task; for while 
it required only two or three hours to make a pair 
of moccasins it was necessary to mend them almost 
daily. Davis greatly admired the awl I bought 
over the mountains, although it was no more serv- 
iceable than the one he had made from the back 
spring of a clasp-knife. 

A settler might be unfortunate enough not to pos- 
sess a gun, but there was none who did not carry a 
moccasin-awl attached to the strap of his shot- 


40 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


pouch, a roll of buckskin for patches and some deer- 
skin thongs, or whangs, for sewing. While we sat 
there barefooted and worked we discussed the pend- 
ing big battle. He held what I considered to be a 
narrow view of the situation. He was for having 
every valley act on the defensive until the Indians 
were convinced they were wasting warriors in at- 
tempting to drive the settlers back over the moun- 
tains. 

While we argued back and forth those children 
having finished their dinner took to playing at 
“Injun.” The boys hid in ambush and the little 
girls endeavored to steal by them without being 
“sculped.” Along the edge of the clearing were 
five or six sentinels. They were keeping only a per- 
functory watch, their eyes and ears giving more 
heed to the laughter and banter than to the silent 
woods. At the northern end of the clearing some 
lovesick swain surrendered to sentiment and in a 
whimsical nasal voice began singing: 

“Come all ye young people, for I’m going for to 
sing 

Consarnin’ Molly Pringle and her lov-yer, Reuben 
King.” 

The thin penetrating shriek of a child somewhere 
in the forest pricked our ears, the clear falsetto of 
its fright silencing the singer and leaving his mouth 
agape. I began drawing on my moccasins, but be- 


INDIAN-HATERS 


4i 


fore I could finish a wonderful transformation had 
taken place in the clearing. As if the cry had been 
a prearranged signal, six of the young men filed 
silently into the woods, moving one behind the oth- 
er, their hunting-shirts now inside their belts leav- 
ing their thighs bare, as if they had been so many 
Shawnees. 

They moved swiftly and silently with no more 
show of confusion or emotion than if they had been 
setting out on routine scout-duty. The child 
screamed again, but not before feasters and work- 
ers had become fighting-units. Those possessing 
guns ran quietly in scattering groups toward the 
forest, leaving the women to guard the clearing and 
children. 

And the women! They were marvelous in their 
spirit. With scarcely a word they caught up the 
axes dropped by the men and formed a long line 
with the children behind them. Little girls became 
little mothers and hurried still smaller tots to the 
unfinished fort. 

The woodsmen advanced to the woods, the wom- 
en slowly fell back, herding the youngsters behind 
them. As I ran my best to make up for the time 
lost over my moccasins I passed the Widow Mc- 
Cabe. I shall never forget the ferocious gleam of 
her slate-gray eyes, nor the superb courage of the 
thin lips compressed in a straight line. 

She moved with the grace of a forest cat, reluc- 


42 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


tant to fall back, her muscular arm swinging the 
heavy ax as if it were a toy. Abreast of her, and 
likewise refusing to retreat, was Moulton’s wife, 
mother of three. She was a thin, frail-appearing 
little woman with prominent blue eyes, and her gaze 
was glassy as she stared at the woods, and her lips 
were drawn back in a snarl. 

“Moulton gal missin’,” ran down the line. “Git 
t’other younkers back.” 

The line began bending at the ends to form a half- 
circle. The distracted little mother left her place in 
it. Without a word to betray the anguish tearing at 
her heart she gathered her linsey petticoat snugly 
about her, and grasping an ax, ran swiftly toward 
the direction of the screaming. The Widow Mc- 
Cabe hesitated, glanced over her shoulder. Satisfied 
the other women had the children well grouped and 
close to the fort, she darted after Mrs. Moulton. 

“Keep back, you women!” yelled Elijah Runner. 
“Stay with the children! They’re letting the child 
scream to fetch us into a’ ambush!” 

This was excellent advice, but the widow and 
Mrs. Moulton gave it no heed. One was impelled 
by hate, the other by love; and as they crashed into 
the growth behind me each was worth a woodsman 
or two in hand-to-hand fighting. With unnerving 
abruptness a man laughed boisterously directly 
ahead of me. Yells and questions filled the arches 
of the deep wood. 


INDIAN-HATERS 


43 


“Everybody back! False alarm! Nothin’ but 
the gal gittin’ skeered,” he shouted. “I’m fetchin’ 
her in, an’ th’ feller what skeered her.” 

Explosive laughter from the men and much crude 
banter marked our relief. Mrs. Moulton dropped 
her ax and with both hands held to her face stum- 
bled into the clearing. The Widow McCabe walked 
with her head bowed, the ax held limply. Although 
rejoicing over the child’s safety, I suspected she re- 
gretted not having had a chance to use her ax. 

“Here they come! Two babies!” some one 
shouted. 

Mrs. Moulton turned and ran toward the woods 
again, much as a hen-partridge scurries to its young. 

The bush-growth swayed and parted. First came 
the frightened child, and she redoubled her weeping 
on finding herself in her mother’s arms. Behind 
the child came a grinning woodsman and back of 
him rode a tall man of very powerful build, but with 
a face so fat as to appear round and wearing an 
expression of stupidity. 

It was my first glimpse of him, but I recognized 
him instantly from the many descriptions border 
men had given of him. He was known as “Baby” 
Kirst, and he was a Nemesis the Indians had raised 
against themselves, a piece of terrible machinery 
which their superstitions would not permit them to 
kill. 

His intelligence was that of a child of seven. 


44 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


When about that age his people were massacred on 
the Greenbriar and he had been left for dead with 
a portion of his scalp ripped off and a ghastly 
wound in his head. By some miracle he had sur- 
vived, but with his mental growth checked. Phys- 
ically he had developed muscle and bone until he was 
a giant in strength. 

The red men believed him to be under the pro- 
tection of the Great Spirit, and when they heard 
him wandering through the woods, sometimes 
weeping like a peevish child because some little plan 
had gone awry, more often laughing uproariously 
at that which would tickle the fancy of a seven-year- 
old, they made mad haste to get out of his path. 

His instinct to kill was aroused against Indians 
only. Perhaps it was induced by a vague memory 
of dark-skinned men having hurt him at some time. 
Nor was he always possessed by this ungovernable 
rage. Sometimes he would spend a day in an In- 
dian camp, but woe to the warrior who even inad- 
vertently crossed his whims. 

He was not skilled in woodcraft beyond the cun- 
ning necessary for surprising easy game such as 
turkeys, squirrels and rabbits. Regardless of his 
enormous appetite food was gladly given him at 
every cabin; for wherever he sought shelter, that 
place was safe from any Indian attack. 

While Mrs. Moulton hurried her child to the fort 
and hushed its weeping with pot-pie the young men 


INDIAN-HATERS 


45 


raised a yelping chorus and came dancing into the 
clearing with all the prancing steps of the red men. 
Deep-voiced oaths and thunderous welcomes were 
showered upon Baby Kirst as he proudly rode among 
them, his huge face further distended by a broad 
grin. 

Awkwardly dismounting from his rawbone horse, 
he stared around the circle and with one hand held 
behind him tantalizingly said : 

“Got something. Sha'n’t let you peek at it.” 

“Let's see it, Baby,” coaxed Runner, his tone 
such as he might use in pleading with a child. 

“No!” And Baby shook his head stubbornly and 
grinned mischievously. 

“ 'Lasses on mush. Heaps of it, Baby,” bribed 
Davis. 

Baby became interested. Davis repeated his offer. 
Slowly Baby drew from behind him the scalp of a 
white man. It was long, dark brown hair, burned 
to a yellowish white at the ends by the sun. 

“That's Ben Kirby's hair!” gasped Scott, staring 
in horror at the exhibit. Then aside, “Good God, 
he ain’t took to killing whites, has he?” 

“Where’d you git it, Baby?” coaxed Hacker. 
“Davis will give you a big bowl of mush and 
'lasses.” 

“That man had it,” proudly informed Baby, and 
he fished from the bosom of his hunting-shirt a 
hank of coarse black hair. 


46 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


“A Shawnee sculp or I’m a flying-squirrel !” 
yelled Runner. “Don’t you understand it, men? 
Some dog of a Shawnee rubbed out Kirby. His 
hair’s been off his head these six weeks. No won- 
der he ain’t come in to help you folks to fort. 

“Baby meets this Shawnee and gives him his 
needings. The red devil’s sculp ain’t more’n three 
days old. Good for you, Baby! Good boy! Give 
him all the ’lasses he can hold. Needn’t worry 
about any raid s’long as he stays here, Davis. You 
can just take your time in finishing that fort.” 

“If we could only keep him!” sighed Davis. 

“But you can’t,” spoke up a young man. “Every 
one has tried. A day or two, yes. Then he must 
go back to the woods. When the Injuns failed to 
finish him off they did a bad job for themselves.” 

“We’ll keep him long’s we can,” said Davis. 
“Hi, mother! Fill the mixing-bowl with mush and 
cover it with sweeting.” 

As proud as a boy being praised by his elders, 
Baby started to strut to the Davis cabin, but quickly 
fell into a limping walk and whimpered a bit. 

“Crippled on account of rheumatiz,” sighed Run- 
ner. “Rheumatiz has put more hunters and fight- 
ers out of business than the Ohio Injuns ever did. 
And poor Baby can’t remember to always sleep with 
his feet to the fire. If we could git him a stout pair 
of shoes to wear in place of them spongy mocca- 
sins it would pay us.” 


INDIAN-HATERS 


47 


Kirst was too grotesque to laugh at, and the set- 
tlers were grotesque when they smiled at his fero- 
cious appetite, and in the next moment tried to 
buy the protection of his presence. Let him reg- 
ularly patrol a dozen miles of frontier each day, and 
I would guarantee no Indian would knowingly 
cross his path. 

More than one party of red raiders had unwit- 
tingly followed his trail, only to turn in flight as if 
the devil was nipping after them once they glimpsed 
his bulky figure, heard his whimpering or his loud 
laughter. The men followed him to the Davis 
cabin, each eager to contribute to the general gossip 
concerning the child-man’s prodigious strength. 

As my horse was straying toward the west side 
of the clearing I went to fetch him back and spancel 
him near the fort. I had secured him and was 
about to ride him back when a rifle cracked close at 
hand in the woods, and I heard a voice passionately 
jeering: 

“I ’low that cotched ye where ye lived, didn’t it ?” 

I drove my horse through the bushes and came 
upon a sickening scene. An Indian man and a 
squaw were seated on a horse. On the ground was 
another Indian. A glance told me he was dead 
from the small blue hole through the forehead. The 
man and woman on the horse remained as motion- 
less as if paralyzed. 

Isaac Crabtree stood reloading his long rifle, his 


4 8 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


sallow face twisted in a smile of vicious joy. As he 
rammed home the charge I crowded my horse 
against him and sent him sprawling. Turning to 
the Indians I cried: 

“Ride away! Ride quick !” 

“We are friendly Cherokees!” cried the woman 
in that tongue. “That man there is called Cherokee 
Billy by white men. ,, And she pointed to the dead 
man. 

With that she swerved the horse about, kicked 
her feet into his ribs and dashed away, the man 
clinging on behind her, his dark features devoid of 
expression. An oath brought my head about. 
Crabtree was on his feet, his hand drawing his ax, 
his face livid with rage. 

“Curse you!” he stuttered. “Ye sp’iled my bag- 
gin’ the three of ’em!” 

“You’ve bagged Cherokee Billy, the brother of 
Oconostota, the great chief of the Cherokees,” I 
wrathfully retorted. “It would have been well for 
the frontier if I could have arrived in time to bag 
you before you did it. The Cherokees have kept 
out of the war, but it’ll be a wonder if they don’t 
swarm up this creek when they hear of this murder.” 

“Let ’em come!” he yelled. “That’s what we 
want. It’ll take more’n you, Basdel Morris, to keep 
my paws clear of the critters once I git a bead on 
one of ’em. Git out of my way so’s I can git my 
rifle. I’ll have the three of ’em yet.” 


INDIAN-HATERS 


49 

“If you make a move to follow them I’ll shoot 
you,” I promised. 

By this time men were crashing through the 
bushes. Then came a louder noise and Baby Kirst, 
mounted on his big horse, his broad face bedaubed 
with molasses, burst on the scene. A dozen settlers 
crowded into the spot behind him. Hacker and 
Runner were the first to see the dead Indian. 
With a whoop they drew their knives and rushed in 
to get the scalp. I drove them back with my horse 
and loudly informed them: 

“It’s Cherokee Billy, brother of Oconostota, who 
can send the whole Cherokee nation against you, 
or hold it back.” 

“I don’t care what Injun it is,” howled Hacker. 
“Hair’s hair. Git out the way, or you’ll git ac- 
quainted with my ax. I’ll have that scalp.” 

“Not so fast,” I warned. “The hair belongs to 
Crabtree here. Kill your own scalps. Crabtree 
doesn’t care to take that scalp. He knows Oconos- 
tota has a long memory.” And I swung about, my 
rifle across the saddle and in a direct line with the 
murderer’s chin. 

“It’s my kill,” growled Crabtree. “Morris held 
me up with his gun, or I’d bagged t’other two of 
’em.” 

“I’d like to see him hold me up when there’s red 
meat to be run down !” snarled Runner. 

There were four killers present in addition to the 


50 


f A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


irresponsible Kirst. I was helpless against them, 
I could not shoot a man down for proposing to fol- 
low two Indians, let the reds be ever so friendly 
toward the whites. But Patrick Davis had come to 
Howard’s Creek to stay, and it was a problem he 
could handle. It at once developed that he did not 
fancy the prospect of a Cherokee reprisal. He 
stepped in front of Runner and in a low ugly voice 
said : 

“You fellows quit this talk. ’Nough mischief has 
been done. Unless Oconostota can be smoothed 
down there’ll be trouble from Rye Cove to Tygart’s 
Valley. As for following t’other two, you’ll reckon 
with me and my neighbors first.” 

“A dead Injun ain’t worth quarreling over,” 
spoke up Widow McCabe from the edge of the 
group; and her eyes glowed as they rested on 
Cherokee Billy. 

Mrs. Moulton now came on the scene. She still 
had her husband, and she frantically called on her 
friends to prevent further bloodshed. The greater 
number of the men, while unwilling to criticize Crab- 
tree for his dastardly murder, did not care to add 
to the Cherokees’ anger, and they took sides with 
Davis. I believed the whole affair had ended, but 
Crabtree was crafty, and he caused fresh fear by 
reminding them : 

“You folks are fools to let the only witnesses to 
that dawg’s death git away and take word back 


INDIAN-HATERS 51 

to the Cherokees. If Morris hadn’t took a hand 
there wouldn’t ’a’ been that danger.” 

Many settlers were long used to classifying the 
red men with the wild animals along the border. 
Therefore, the question of killing the two fleeing 
Cherokees became a matter of policy, rather than 
of sentiment. But Davis, although he wavered, fi- 
nally declared he would have none of it. He re- 
minded his friends that they would soon be called 
by Dunmore to march against the Ohio tribes, and 
that it would not do to leave hostile Cherokees be- 
hind them to attack the valleys. Hacker, Runner, 
Scott and Crabtree perceived that the settlers were 
opposed to further bloodshed, but Crabtree still had 
a card to play. Turning to Baby Kirst, who was 
staring intently down on the dead man, he suddenly 
cried: 

“Sweet sugar, Baby, if you ride and find two In- 
juns just gone away.” 

And he pointed in the direction taken by the man 
and woman. With a yelp of juvenile delight Baby 
slapped his horse and rode away down the valley. 

“Now you’ve done it!” growled Davis, scowling 
blackly at Crabtree. “You’ve made trouble atween 
us and the Cherokees, and you’ve drove away the 
best defense against Injuns we could ’a’ had.” 

“I don’t have to have no loose-wit to stand ’tween 
me and Injuns,” sneered Crabtree. 

“You’re better at killing unarmed Indians than 


52 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


in putting up a real fight,” I accused. “You’re not 
fond of traveling very far from a settlement when 
you draw blood. Shelby Cousin was telling me 
down on the Cheat that you like to be near a white 
man’s cabin when you make a kill.” 

His sallow face flushed red, but he had no harsh 
words to say against young Cousin. Without re- 
plying to me he made for the Davis cabin to get 
something to eat, leaving Cherokee Billy for others 
to bury. I noticed it was the Widow McCabe, with 
her slate-gray eyes half-closed and gleaming 
brightly, who waited on Crabtree and heaped his 
plate with food. 

What with the interruptions and the nervous ten- 
sion of the men it was after sunset before the roof 
of the fort was finished. It was agreed that the 
men with families should sleep in the fort that night 
with the single men occupying the cabins nearest 
the fort. I took up my quarters in the Davis cabin, 
after reminding my friends again that I must start 
early in the morning to cross the mountains on my 
way to Colonel Lewis who lived near Salem. 

“Why, land sake! To Salem! Why, look here! 
You’ll be seeing my cousin, Ericus Dale !” excitedly 
exclaimed Mrs. Davis. 

My emotion was far greater than that expressed 
by Mrs. Davis, but the dusk of early evening per- 
mitted me to conceal it. It was three years since I 
had seen the Dales, father and daughter. They 


INDIAN-HATERS 


53 


were then living in Williamsburg. It was most as- 
tonishing that they should be now living in Salem. 
But this was going too fast. 

It did not follow that Patricia Dale was in Salem 
because her father was there. In truth, it was dif- 
ficult to imagine Patsy Dale being content with 
that little settlement under the eastern eaves of the 
mountains. Before I could find my tongue Mrs. 
Davis was informing her neighbors : 

“My cousin, Ericus, ain’t got many warm spots 
in his heart for Governor Dunmore. He’s sure to 
be sot ag’in’ this war. He’s a very powerful man 
in the colony.” Then to me, “I want you to see 
Patsy and tell her not to think of coming out here 
this summer. She’s not to come till the Injuns have 
been well whipped.” 

“Coming out here?” I dully repeated. 

“They was opinin’ to when I last got word from 
’em last March. They was at their home in Will- 
iamsburg* and the girl wrote she was going to 
Salem with her father, who had some trading-busi- 
ness to fix up. ’Spected to be there all summer, 
and was ’lowing to come out here with her daddy. 
But seeing how things is going, it won’t do. Mebbe 
Salem even won’t be safe for ’em. It won’t put you 
out any to see her and tell her ?” 

I trusted to the dusk to conceal my burning 
cheeks. I had supposed I had secured control of 
myself during my three years on the border. It 


54 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


would be impossible for any man who had looked 
into Patsy Dale’s dark blue eyes to forget her; and 
we had been something more than friends. I prom- 
ised Mrs. Davis I would do her errand, and hurried 
from the cabin. 

The ride ahead of me suddenly became momen- 
tous. I was thrilled with the prospect of seeing 
Patsy again; and I was afraid the interview would 
disturb me vastly. To be alone and arrange my 
jumbled thoughts I helped drive the horses into a 
small inclosure, well stockaded, and watched the 
boys coming through the clearing to drive the cat- 
tle into their stalls in several hollow sycamores. 
These natural shelters, once the openings were en- 
larged and protected with bars, made excellent pens 
for the domestic animals and fowls. I was still 
thinking about Patsy Dale and the time when her 
young life touched mine when the cabin doors were 
barred and it was time to sleep. 


CHAPTER III 


OVER THE MOUNTAINS 

YY7HEN I opened my eyes a young man was sur- 
veying the clearing through a chink above 
the door. This morning vigilance was customary in 
every cabin along the frontier and revealed the set- 
tler’s realization of the ever present danger. No 
wonder those first men grew to hate the dark for- 
est and the cover it afforded the red raiders. A 
reconnaissance made through a peephole could at 
the best satisfy one that no stump in the clearing 
concealed an Indian. 

It was with this unsatisfactory guarantee that the 
settler unbarred his door. He could never be sure 
that the fringe of the woods was not alive with the 
enemy. And yet young men fell in love and amor- 
ously sought their mates, and were married, and 
their neighbors made merry, and children were born. 
And always across the clearing lay the shadow of 
the tomahawk. 

Now that I am older and the blood runs colder, 
and the frontier is pushed beyond the mountains, I 
often wonder what our town swains would do if 
55 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


56 

they had to risk their scalps each time a sweetheart 
was visited! 

The man at the door dropped back to the punch- 
eon floor, announcing: “All clear at my end.” 

A companion at the other end of the cabin made 
a similar report, and the door was opened. Two of 
the men, with their rifles ready, stepped outside and 
swiftly swung their gaze along the edge of the for- 
est. The early morning mists obscured the vision 
somewhat. A bell tinkled just within the under- 
growth. Instantly the fellows outside dropped be- 
hind stumps, while we inside removed the plugs 
from loopholes. 

“All the cattle is in,” murmured a youth to me, 
so young his first beard had barely sprouted. “In- 
jun trick to git us out there.” 

Several minutes passed, then Davis loudly called 
from the fort : 

“It's all right ! Hodge's critter wa’n't fetched in 
last night.” 

Even as he spoke the cow emerged from the 
bushes. 

Smoke began issuing from the cabin chimneys 
and the women came from the fort to warm up the 
remains of the pot-pies, to bake corn bread and pre- 
pare mush. The men scattered through the clear- 
ing. Some chopped down bushes which might mask 
a foe's stealthy advance, others cleared out logs 
which might serve as breastworks for the raiders. 


OVER THE MOUNTAINS 


5 7 


Labor did not appeal to the four killers, and their 
part was done when they slipped into the forest, 
each taking a different course, and scouted for 
signs and bagged some game. As my business de- 
manded an early departure I was not expected to 
participate in any of these precautions. 

I saw that my horse had his feed and water and 
led him back to the cabin, and gave my weapons 
their daily overhauling. Mrs. Davis paused in her 
labors long enough to remind me of her message to 
Patricia Dale. I reassured her so earnestly that she 
turned from her corn-bread baking in a flat pan be- 
fore the open fire and stared at me rather intently. 
There was no dodging her keen eyes. 

“See here,” she exclaimed; “you've met Patsy 
already, I 'low.” 

I hesitated between the truth and a lie, and then 
nodded my head. She brushed a limp strand of 
hair from her face, and in so doing left a smut- 
streak across her nose, and half-closed her eyes 
while a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. 

“I can't say yet whether you're lucky, or just the 
opposite,” she demurely remarked. 

A loud call from the forest relieved my answer- 
ing this insinuating remark, and I stepped outdoors 
to find the men leaving their work and the women 
leaving their cooking. “White man coming!” 
bawled a young man. 

“Ain't any of the scouts,” said Davis. “Better 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


58 

gather the children in. White man sure enough, 
but it may be one of the renegade breed. Surveyors 
from the Kanawha say Tavenor Ross is out with 
the reds ag’in.” 

There was no haste or confusion in preparing for 
this possible attack led by a white man. The chil- 
dren scuttled to their mothers; the men slowly fell 
back to fort and cabins. The fact that four Indian- 
haters were carefully scouting the woods satisfied 
us that no enemy could get very close without being 
fired upon. The white man called again. This 
time he was answered from two directions. 

“It’s all right/’ shouted Davis. “Ike Crabtree 
answered him. So did Lige Runner. Crabtree 
never would ’a’ yipped till sure there wa’n’t no In- 
jun waiting to be shot down. Prob’ly some one 
from the Holston.” 

“Hooray!” howled a seventeen-year-old lad, who 
painted his face in addition to wearing Indian leg- 
gings. “It’s Jesse Hughes !” 

His endorsement of the passionate, reckless man 
evoked more enthusiasm from the younger men 
than from their elders. So implacable was Hughes 
in his hatred of the natives that he was incapable of 
any self-restraint. His participation in the massa- 
cre of the Bulltown families had made him a well- 
known character wherever Indian-fighters met. 

Crabtree loved to kill Indians, but he always 
weighed his chances and never scorned an advan- 


OVER THE MOUNTAINS 


59 


tage. Hughes killed on sight, whether in a settle- 
ment or in the woods, whether the act brought one 
or a score of dusky avengers on his trail. Nor did 
it matter if the Indian be friendly to the whites and 
known to be perfectly harmless. His skin con- 
demned him. 

Although a master of woodcraft and possessing a 
knowledge of western Virginia equaled by few men, 
Hughes was never asked to lead a command of rang- 
ers sent to rescue prisoners, or punish a village. He 
was too irresponsible. He would imperil the lives 
of a score of friends bent on a surprise attack by 
firing upon the first savage he saw. 

The young men saw in him the successful killer. 
Their elders preferred to travel the forests without 
him. His presence in a settlement once war came 
to the frontier, however, was always desirable, as in 
case of a fight he would do the enemy much damage. 

When he rode from the forest the four scouts 
came with him; and there was no question as to 
their admiration of the fellow. Greetings were 
called out by men and women. He saw me mount- 
ed and some one told him of my journey. He rode 
up to me and warned me to be watchful as he had 
found tracks a few miles south of the mountain- 
trace I proposed following. 

His errand at Howard’s Creek was to secure a 
few men and attempt to cut off this band. Eager 
queries for news induced him to say he had just 


6o 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


come from Clinch River, and that Captain William 
Russell, in charge of the rangers along the Clinch, 
had started Daniel Boone and Michael Stoner for 
the Falls of the Ohio to warn the surveyors along 
the river that the Indians were out and would soon 
be attacking the frontier and combing the Kentucky 
country clean. 

With much gusto he added that three Cherokees 
had been killed recently at the head of the Clinch. 
The thoughtless, in unison with Hacker and his 
companions, cheered this announcement most lust- 
ily. The men with families looked very grave. Of 
Baby Kirst, Hughes had seen no signs. 

His report of Indian-signs near my route over 
the mountains influenced me to return to the cabin 
and check up my ammunition more carefully. I 
spread a double handful of small bullets on the ta- 
ble, running seventy to the pound, and let each slip 
through my fingers to make sure none was irreg- 
ular. Only those which were round and smooth 
were returned to the pouch. 

My flints and greased linen patches were exam- 
ined a second time. An aged man, known as Uncle 
Dick, came in and watched me curiously, and 
grinned in approval of my caution. It was seldom a 
man reached his advanced age on the frontier. I 
had never heard Uncle Dick’s last name, nor do I be- 
lieve there was any one on the creek who had heard 
it. 


OVER THE MOUNTAINS 


61 


According to rumor he had gone against some 
law in South Carolina and had fled to the frontier. 
Despite his many years he was sturdy and strong, 
but his failing eyesight made him dependent upon 
knife and ax. Much travel in wet weather had 
crippled him with rheumatism, and he remained 
close to whatever settlement he happened to visit. 

“Fill the breast o’ yer shirt with hunks o’ corn 
cake, younker. Be sure yer ax is hitched so it won’t 
be snagged from the loop when ye ride hellitiflicker 
through the bushes,” he warned me. 

I nodded, and he seated himself on a three-legged 
stool and whetted a long knife against one of the 
fireplace stones, and mumbled: 

“Don’t make no differ about me, but for the sake 
o’ these younkers here such men as love killin’ In- 
juns oughter keep clear o’ the settlements an’ do 
their stent on t’other side the Ohio. Old Corn- 
stalk’s powerful keen to git them fellers. When he 
hears they’re here at the creek he’s likely to strike 
quick an’ mighty pert. Wal, if they come an’ I can 
make it hand-grips with ’em I ’low there’ll be some 
new Injuns in the Happy Huntin’-grounds.” 

When I bid the people good-by and received their 
kindly wishes for a safe journey, Uncle Dick was 
still at the fireplace, trying to improve the razor- 
edge of his blade. 

I rode through the woods without spending any 
time in looking for signs. Runner and his mates 


62 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


had scouted a circle around the clearing in a thor- 
ough fashion, and I could spare my eyes until I 
reached the first slope of the mountains. When the 
path began to ascend and I was afforded a better 
view of the heavens, thunder-clouds were piling in 
sullen massiveness above the western horizon. 

The heat was very oppressive. The dull rumble 
of thunder came across the valley behind. It was 
as much of a vibration as a sound, something to be 
felt as well as heard. The song-birds were keeping 
close to the thickets and fluttering about nervously. 
By the time I was well committed to the first nig- 
ged ascent, a yellowish gray wall filled the western 
sky. Across this the lightning played. 

As the curtain of rain drove in toward the Green- 
briar I knew that any savages lurking west of How- 
ard's Creek would be bothered to keep their priming 
dry. No rain fell on my path, however, and at no 
time did I lose the early morning sun. On gaining 
a higher elevation I could see the storm was follow- 
ing the valley down to the head waters of the 
Clinch. 

I had not neglected Uncle Dick's advice in re- 
gard to provisions, and the front of my loose hunt- 
ing-shirt held a bag of corn cakes and some cooked 
venison. On reaching the first slope I had watched 
carefully for the tracks Hughes had seen south of 
the trace, but found none. 

There could be no question of Hughes' ability to 


OVER THE MOUNTAINS 


63 


read Indian-signs ; and his warning recalled the 
Grisdols to my mind. These people — two brothers 
and two children — had their cabin in a hollow close 
by a tumbling brook and to one side of the trace. 
I planned to make a slight detour and pass a word 
with them and to warn them to be watchful. 

The fact that Hughes had found signs near the 
mountains would indicate the Indians had planned 
a raid against some isolated home, and as there was 
no footing in the trace I followed, it might easily 
be that the enemy had entered lower down. 

Along toward the noon hour I topped a ridge and 
decided I would halt and eat at the first spring or 
brook I came to. My horse, an old campaigner in 
wilderness work, pricked his ears as we began dip- 
ping down the gentle slope. I studied the path 
ahead and the timbered slopes on both sides to dis- 
cover the cause of this attention. 

The animal was intelligent. I knew it could be 
no wild creature as there was no suggestion of fear 
in the attentive ears. Dissatisfied at remaining in 
ignorance, I reined in to investigate more carefully. 
Almost at once the horse swung his head to the right 
and gazed curiously. On this side the space was 
bordered by a beech grove. Owing to the rank 
bush-growth lining the path, little could be seen of 
the grove from any point below where I had halted 
until a brook, which cut the path, was reached. 

I leaned forward and looked between the horse’s 


64 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


ears and discovered a bear down in the hollow, nos- 
ing about for nuts and grubs on the bank of the 
brook. A bear was always acceptable meat to a set- 
tler, and I at once decided to stalk the brute and 
pack his carcass to the Grisdol cabin. 

After the first moment he passed behind some 
trees, but as I continued to glimpse him I knew he 
had not taken alarm. I slid from my horse and 
started him down the trace, and then ducked into 
the grove and rapidly descended toward the brook. 
I had no fear of my horse losing himself, as he 
would make for the stream where I would join him 
within a few minutes. 

As I flitted from tree to tree I repeatedly sighted 
the animal as he poked his nose about in search of 
ants or grubs, and yet when I reached a point with- 
in sixty or seventy-five yards of where he should 
have been feeding I could not locate him. 

A half-formed suspicion popped into my mind 
from nowhere. My horse had shown no nervous- 
ness in drawing nearer to the bear. The bushes 
prevented my seeing the horse, but I could hear him 
as he quickened his pace to reach the tumbling 
brook. Now for a second I saw the bear again, 
and my suspicion grew stronger. 

The brute impressed me as being very lean, where- 
as the season was enough advanced to have grown 
some fat on his bones. I was fairly startled next 
to behold the creature emerge from behind a tree 


OVER THE MOUNTAINS 


65 


and walk upright toward the opening made by the 
brook, cutting across the trace. Had I not been 
partly primed for the surprise I should have been 
astounded at my second discovery; the bear was 
armed with a gun. 

Expecting to behold me on the horse when the 
animal reached the brook the fellow's only thought 
was to remain unseen by any one in the trace. He 
halted behind a tree, but in full view of me, and 
standing with his left side exposed to me. Had I 
the instincts of a killer I would have shot him forth- 
with, and as he was obviously stalking me, having 
discovered I was traveling over the trace, I would 
have been justified. As it was I whistled shrilly. 

Like a flash the bearskin fell back and a painted 
Shawnee wheeled to face me. Even as he turned 
his smooth-bore banged away and half a dozen 
buckshot rained through the branches over my head. 
He was slipping behind the tree when I fired. 

He went dowm with a foot and part of his leg ex- 
posed. Controlling an impulse to close in I reload- 
ed, taking great care in wrapping the greased patch 
about the bullet. I believed I had done for him, 
but to make sure I sent another pellet through the 
exposed foot. It twitched, as a dead limb will, but 
without muscular reaction. Reloading, and circling 
warily to avoid being taken by surprise by any com- 
panion, I reached the beech. My first shot had caught 
him through the base of the neck, killing instantly. 


66 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


He wore a necklace of bear’s claws and was hid- 
eously painted. He had the snake totem on his 
chest and was nude except for his breech-clout and 
moccasins. Fastened to his clout were four awful 
exhibits of his predaceous success — four scalps. 
One was gray, another streaked with gray, and two 
— oh, the pity of it — were soft and long. 

I removed them and placed them in the roll of 
buckskin that I carried for moccasin-patches. And 
my heart being hardened, I scalped the murderer 
with never a qualm. No warning was longer need- 
ed at the Grisdol cabin. The Indians had struck. 

Furtively scanning the grove, I stole to the trace 
where my horse stood fetlock-deep in the brook. 
The dead warrior had known of my coming, or of 
some one’s coming, and had had time to masquerade 
as a bear. He had thought to catch his victim off 
his guard. 

The four scalps proved the raiders were out in 
numbers, for a small party would not venture so far 
east. But the dead warrior’s attempt to ambush me 
in a bearskin also proved he was working alone for 
the time being. Yet gunshots carry far, and I 
might expect the Shawnees to be swarming into 
the hollow at any moment. 

Mounting my horse, I turned north, left of the 
trace, and picked a course where no trail ran, and 
from which I could occasionally catch a glimpse of 
the path some fifty feet below. I discovered no 


OVER THE MOUNTAINS 


67 


signs of the enemy, and there was no way of telling 
whether they were ahead or behind me. That they 
must have heard the roar of the smooth-bore and 
the whip-like crack of my Deckhard was not to be 
doubted. Nor would they fail to guess the truth, 
inasmuch as the rifle had spoken last. 

It became very difficult to keep along the side of 
the slope and I dismounted and led the horse. The 
prolonged howl of a wolf sounded behind. My 
horse was greatly afraid of wolves, yet he did not 
draw back and display nervousness. I increased my 
pace, then halted and half-raised my rifle as there 
came a shuffling of feet above me, accompanied by 
a tiny avalanche of forest mold and rotten chest- 
nuts. I rested the rifle over the saddle and endeav- 
ored to peer through the tangle of beech and inferior 
growth which masked the flank of the slope. 

The sliding, shuffling sound continued with no 
attempt at concealment that I could discover; and 
yet there was nothing to shoot at. Suddenly the 
noise ceased. I was still staring toward the spot 
where it had last sounded when a calm voice behind 
me called out : 

“They’re after you.” 

It was Shelby Cousin, with the hate of the bor- 
der making his young face very hard and cruel. 

“I’ve been scouting ’em,” he informed me. “I 
seen you take to the side o’ this ridge. I seen ’em 
streamin’ down the trace. They picked up your 


68 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


trail mighty smart. Now they’re scattered all 
along behind you.” 

I opened the roll of buckskin and disclosed the 
terrible trophies. He straightened and threw his 
head back, and for a moment stood with his eyes 
closed, his slight figure trembling violently. Then 
he fiercely whispered: 

“How’d you git these from the devils?” 

There was an expectant glare in his gaze. I 
showed him the hair of the Shawnee. 

“Good! Good!” he repeated exultantly as he 
gloated over the repulsive thing. Then gloomily: 

“But why couldn’t I ’a’ took it? Luck’s been 
ag’in’ me for days. Found a burned cabin after I 
quit you on the Cheat, an’ ’lowed to ambush the 
party when they made for the Ohio. ’Stead o’ goin’ 
to their villages they fooled me by strikin’ across to 
here. Now they’ve made this kill ! Who be they ?” 

“The Grisdols. Only a short distance from here. 
Two men and the two children. No women. I 
knew them. I must go there and bury them and 
these scalps.” 

“I’ll help,” he mumbled. “I ain’t heard no dis- 
covery-yell yet. They’re still huntin’ for your signs 
along this ridge.” Trailing his double-barrel rifle, 
he took the lead and began a diagonal descent to 
the trace I had abandoned. I murmured a protest, 
but he assured me : 

“They’re all behind us. We can make quicker 


OVER THE MOUNTAINS 69 

time in the trace. They’ll hop on to your trail sure’s 
shootin’. Speed is what we hanker for.” 

His woodcraft was remarkable. He seemed to 
possess the gift of seeing that which was concealed. 
With a glance he would observe land formations 
and the nature of the growth, and confidently cir- 
cle a heavy grove and tell me what would be the 
nature of the traveling beyond, and whether wet or 
dry. 

“We could slide down into the trace in a minute 
any time, but I don’t want to take to it till we round 
the bend ahead ; then we’ll be out o’ sight o’ the reds 
strung along the ridge.” 

He had halted as he explained this and I was al- 
most abreast of him, and he startled me by whip- 
ping up his rifle and firing. As the shot rang out 
he rejoiced: 

“One!” 

I had heard nothing, seen nothing, and yet he 
had both heard and seen, and had made his kill. 

“No use coverin’ up any longer,” he said. 
“They’re closin’ in. Make for the trace shortest 
way. Hold back once you hit it for me to come up. 
There’s not more’n two or three close at hand, but 
the whole kit an’ b’ilin’ know we’re here.” 

The spiteful spang of his rifle barely interrupted 
the woods life close about us. Only for a moment 
did the squirrels cease their chatter. A grouse 
drummed away in alarm, but only for a short flight. 


70 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


No cries of rage, nor war-whoops, warned that the 
enemy were closing in on us. Had I been new to 
the border I should have disbelieved my compan- 
ion’s statement. Leading the horse, I started down 
the bank while Cousin climbed higher. 

It was not until my horse slid down a ten-foot 
bank that I heard a hostile sound — the rush of 
many feet through last year’s dead leaves. I heard 
the Deckhard fired once, and instantly the side of 
the ridge was as quiet as a death-chamber. Then 
came the scream of a panther, Cousin’s way of an- 
nouncing a kill. 

They must have attempted rushing him, thinking 
his rifle was empty; for he fired again, and once 
more gave voice to his war-cry. Then the old eter- 
nal quiet of the forest dropped back in place. Until 
I heard a Shawnee scalp-cry I could rest easy as to 
my companion. I slipped into the trace and mount- 
ed, and pushed ahead. 

The Indians were abreast of me and there was the 
danger of their cutting into the trace ahead. That 
they had not followed at my heels made me believe 
they were concentrating all their energies on mak- 
ing a surround and killing, or capturing their much 
feared enemy. They would prefer to dance Cousin’s 
scalp than to dance a dozen of men of my caliber. 

There were no more shots up the ridge, and I 
found it hard to decide just what gait I should per- 
mit my horse to take. I could not leave the boy 


OVER THE MOUNTAINS 


7i 


behind, nor did I care to risk being intercepted. I 
was worrying my mind into a fine stew over this 
point when the bushes stirred ahead. I dropped to 
the ground behind the horse, but it was young 
Cousin. He motioned for me to hurry. 

“You dodged them!” I said. 

“Black Hoofs band. They’re hard to dodge,” 
he whispered, striding rapidly along and swinging 
his head from side to side. “How far to the Gris- 
dol cabin?” 

“Two miles.” 

“Then ride for it. I’ll run at your stirrup. We’ll 
need that cabin if it ain’t been burned. I ’low it’ll 
be a close race.” 

There was no sign of pursuit. I was no novice 
in Indian warfare, but in this instance I scarcely be- 
lieved the Shawnees would draw near enough to 
make the chase interesting. So far as I could ob- 
serve Cousin had succeeded in stealing away from 
them, and there was no Indian who could overtake 
him, especially if he ran at my stirrup. 

“They’ve took four sculps on this side the val- 
ley,” he murmured as he loped along at my side. “I 
bagged three on ’em. You fetched one. Black 
Hoof is too big a chief to call it quits. He’s back 
there leadin’ the chase. So I ’low it’ll be close.” 

A curious little thrill chilled my spine. Cata- 
hecassa, or Black Hoof, was one of the most re- 
doubtable and resourceful savages to be found in the 


72 


A’ VIRGINIA SCOUT 


Shawnee nation. If below Cornstalk’s intellectual 
plane he made up for much of any such discrepancy 
by his fiery courage and deep cunning. 

The long-drawn howl of a wolf sounded up the 
slope on our left and was soon answered by a sim- 
ilar call directly in our rear. For a third time the 
signal menaced us, on our right and at a consid- 
erable distance. 

‘They’re still scoutin’ the ridge for me,” mur- 
mured Cousin, his lean face turning to the left. 
“The heft of ’em are cornin’ along the trace behind 
us. Those over to the right are hustlin’ to find out 
what’s up. We must git along faster!” 

My mount responded eagerly, for he sensed the 
danger. And it was wonderful to observe how 
Cousin kept up, with one hand on my stirrup, the 
other holding the rifle. We were well beyond the 
brook where I shot my Shawnee, and within half 
a mile or less of the Grisdol cabin, when our flight 
was interrupted for a few moments by the be- 
havior of my horse. 

It was just as we turned from the main trace to 
strike into the path leading to the cabin that the 
animal bolted sidewise, crowding Cousin deep into 
the bushes. I reined in and stared down on a ter- 
rible sight — that of the four Grisdols. They lay 
in the path, head to head, in the form of a cross. I 
felt my stirrup shake as Cousin’s hand rested on it. 
He gave a little gasping sob and whispered: 


OVER THE MOUNTAINS 


73 


“How near to the cabin now ?” 

“Less than half a mile/’ I told him as I soothed 
my horse and permitted him to pick his way around 
the dead. 

Once more we were off, but now Cousin ran be- 
hind, for the way was winding and narrow, and at 
places the overhanging boughs tried to brush me 
from the saddle. 

There was no need of glancing back to make sure 
my companion was keeping up, for his impatient 
voice repeatedly urged me to make greater speed. 

“If the cabin ain’t standin’ we’ve got to have 
’nough of a lead to let us lose ’em in the woods,” he 
reminded. 

The path completed a detour of some tangled 
blackberry bushes and ended in a natural opening, 
well grassed. 

“There it is! The roof is partly burned!” I 
encouraged. 

“The walls stand. The door’s in place. Faster !” 

Across the opening we raced. From the woods 
behind arose a ferocious yelling. The Shawnee 
were confident they had driven us into a trap. We 
flashed by two dead cows and some butchered hogs, 
and as yet I had not seen an Indian except the one 
masked in a bear’s pelt. The cabin roof was 
burned through at the front end. The door was 
partly open and uninjured. 

It was simple reasoning to reconstruct the trag- 


74 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


edy even while we hastened to shelter. The fam- 
ily had offered resistance, but had been thrown into 
a panic at the first danger from fire. Then it was 
quickly over. Doubtless there had been something 
of a parley with the usual promise of life if they 
came out. The fire crackled overhead, the victims 
opened the door. 

Cousin said they had been conducted to the main 
trace before being slaughtered. As I leaped from 
my horse a fringe of savages broke from cover and 
began shooting. Cousin dropped the foremost of 
them. I led the horse inside the cabin and my com- 
panion closed and barred the door. 

The interior of the place mutely related the tragic 
story. It is the homely background of a crime that 
accents the terrible. On the table was the break- 
fast of the family, scarcely touched. They had 
been surprised when just about to eat. An over- 
turned stool told how one of the men had leaped to 
bar the door at the first alarm. I spied through a 
peephole but could see nothing of our foes. A low 
cry from Cousin alarmed me. He was overcome at 
the sight of a small apron. 

“I wish I’d stuck to the open,” he whispered. 
“The air o’ this place chokes me.” 

“If we can stand them off till night we can send 
the horse galloping toward the woods to draw their 
fire. Then we can run for it.” 

“There won’t be no darkness to-night,” morosely 


OVER THE MOUNTAINS 


75 


replied Cousin. “They’ll make big fires. They’ll 
try to bum us out. We’re well forted till they git 
the roof blazin’ ag’in. We’ll ’low to stick here 
s’long we can. They won’t dare to hang round too 
long.” 

He took a big kettle from the fireplace and thrust 
it through the hole in the roof. Bullets whistled 
overhead, with an occasional whang as a piece of 
lead hit the kettle and ricochetted. After the first 
volley the Indians refused to waste their ammuni- 
tion, either realizing it was useless, or suspecting 
the kettle was some kind of a trick. 

“I ’lowed they’d git tired,” muttered Cousin, 
sticking the top of his head into the kettle and lifting 
the edge a crack so he could scrutinize the forest. 
After a minute of silence his muffed voice called 
down to me: “Had a notion that cow we passed 
nearest the woods was dead. Try a shot that’ll just 
graze the rump.” 

I fired and a Shawnee began rolling toward the 
bushes. The iron kettle rattled to the ground, and 
young Cousin, with head and shoulders thrust 
through the roof, discharged both barrels of his 
rifle. The Indian stopped rolling. I was amazed 
that Black Hoof’s men had not instantly fired a 
volley. I exclaimed as much as he dropped to the 
floor. 

“Here she comes!” he cried as the lead began 
plunging into the thick logs. “If they keep it up 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


76 

we can dig quite a lot o’ lead out the timbers. It 
took ’em by surprise to see me cornin’ through the 
roof, an’ it surprised ’em more to see two shoots 
cornin’ out of a gun that hadn’t been reloaded. 
Mighty few double barrels out here. Huh! I 
’low somethin’ cur’ous is goin’ to happen.” 

I could discern nothing to warrant this prophecy. 
No Indians were to be seen. Cousin called my at- 
tention to the sound of their tomahawks. I had 
heard it before he spoke, but I had been so intent in 
using my eyes that I had forgotten to interpret 
what my ears were trying to tell me. There was 
nothing to do but wait. 

Cousin discovered the horse had drunk what 
water there had happened to be in the bucket, leav- 
ing us scarcely a drop. Half an hour of waiting 
seemed half a day; then something began emerging 
from the woods. It resolved itself into a barrier of 
green boughs, measuring some fifteen feet in length 
and ten feet in height. 

Its approach was slow. The noise of the axes 
was explained. The Indians had chopped saplings 
and had made a frame and filled it with boughs. 
Behind it was a number of warriors. About half- 
way across the clearing were half a dozen long logs 
scattered about. 

‘They’re thinkin’ to make them logs an’ while 
hid by their boughs yank ’em together to make a 
breastwork. Then they’ll pepper us while ’nother 
party rushes in close. New party will pelt us while 


OVER THE MOUNTAINS 


77 


the first makes a run to git ag’in’ the walls where 
we can’t damage ’em from the loopholes. That 
Black Hoof is a devil for thinkin’ up tricks.” 

I fired at the green mass. Cousin rebuked me, 
saying : 

“Don’t waste lead. There’s three braves with 
long poles to keep the contraption from failin’ back- 
ward.. They’re on their feet, but keepin’ low as 
possible. There’s t’others pushin’ the bottom along. 
There’s t’others huggin’ the ground. You’ll notice 
the ends an’ middle o’ the top stick up right pert, 
but between the middle an’ each end the boughs 
sort o’ sag down. If the middle pole can be put out 
o’ business I ’low the weight of it will make it cave 
in. Loaded? Then don’t shoot less you see some- 
thin’.” 

With this warning he fired at the middle of the 
screen, and the middle support developed a weak- 
ness, indicating he had wounded the poleman. He 
fired again, and the whole affair began to collapse, 
and a dozen warriors were uncovered. These raced 
for the woods, two of them dragging a wounded or 
dead man. 

For a few seconds I was incapable of moving a 
muscle. I was much like a boy trying to shoot his 
first buck. Or perhaps it was the very abundance 
of targets that made me behave so foolishly. Cousin 
screamed in rage. My bonds snapped, and I fired. 
If I scored a hit it was only to wound, for none of 
the fleeing foe lessened their speed. 


;8 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


“Awful poor fiddlin’ !” groaned Cousin, eying me 
malevolently 

“I don’t know what was the matter with me. 
Something seemed to hold me paralyzed. Couldn’t 
move a finger until you yelled.” 

“Better luck next time,” he growled, his resent- 
ment passing away. 

He loaded and stood his rifle against the logs and 
began spying from the rear of the cabin. Whenever 
he glanced at the apron his eyes would close for a 
moment. No women had lived there. One of the 
Grisdols, the father of the two children, had brought 
it as a reminder of his dead wife. Cousin’s great 
fight was not against the red besiegers, but against 
his emotions. I knew he was thinking of his sister. 

“Come here!” I sharply called. “They want a 
pow-wow. One’s waving a green bough.” 

Cousin climbed to the hole in the roof, holding 
his rifle out of sight by the muzzle. He yelled in 
Shawnee for the man to advance alone. The war- 
rior strode forward, the token of peace held high. 
So far as I could see he did not have even a knife 
in his belt. Overhead Cousin’s rifle cracked and the 
Indian went down with never a kick. 

“Good God! You’ve fired on a flag of truce, 
after agreeing to receive it!” I raged. 

He stood beside me, a crooked smile on his set 
face, his eyes gleaming with triumph, his shapely 
head tilted to enjoy every note of the horrible anger 
now welling from the forest. “You fired ” 


OVER THE MOUNTAINS 


79 


“ I ’low I did,” he chuckled. Then with awful 
intentness, “But the folks who lived here an’ was 
happy didn’t fire on the Injun fetchin’ ’em a bundle 
o’ peace-talk. They believed the Injuns meant it. 
Do you reckon I treated that dog any worse than 
the Shawnees treated my father and mother and 
little sister ten years ago? If you don’t ’low that, 
just keep shet. When a Injun sends you a flag o’ 
truce you want to tie your scalp down, or it’ll blow 
off.” 

The chorus of howls in the forest suddenly ceased, 
then were succeeded by sharp yelps of joy. Cousin 
stared at me in bewilderment. Darting to the back 
of the cabin, he peered through a chink. “Come 
here,” he softly commanded. I joined him and took 
his place at the peephole. There was a haze of 
smoke in the eastern sky. 

“That’s why Black Hoof an’ his men are hangin 1 
round here,” he sighed. “He sent a small band 
farther east. They’ve made a kill. That’s a bumin’ 
over there.” 

“That would be Edgely’s cabin,” I decided. 
“But they moved back to Dunlap’s Creek three 
months ago.” 

“Thank God for that!” he exclaimed. “But we’ll 
have more Injuns round us mighty soon. I wish it 
was dark.” 

“They’ve stopped their yowling. Look out for 
fresh deviltry !” 

He nodded and walked to the front of the cabin. 


8o 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


The horse neighed shrilly. The call was repeated 
in the forest. The Indians continued silent. T 
heard it first; that is to recognize it. For I had 
heard it the day before. The voice of a man shout- 
ing fretfully, much as an angry child complains. 
Cousin understood it when a whimpering note was 
added. 

“Baby Kirst !” he softly cried. “Black Hoof will 
’low his medicine is mighty weak. Baby’s out there 
'an’ in a bad frame o’ mind. Somethin’ is goin’ 
ag’in’ the grain. It’s good medicine for us that he 
wandered up this way.” 

I began sketching the happenings at Howard’s 
Creek, but before I could finish the bushes on the 
hem of the woods were violently agitated and Baby 
Kirst rode into the clearing, his horse in a lather. 
When he beheld the dead cows and hogs he yelled 
like a madman and plucked his heavy ax from his 
belt, and turned back to the woods. He disappeared 
with a crash, his hoarse voice shouting unintelligible 
things. 

“Now you can go,” quietly said Cousin as he 
unbarred the door. “Be keerful o’ the Injuns to 
the east. They’ll be a small band. I ’low I’ll foller 
Kirst. If he don’t drive ’em too fast there oughter 
be good huntin’ for me.” 

That night I rode into the Greenwood clearing on 
Dunlap’s Creek without having seen any Indians 
along the way. 


CHAPTER IV 


I REPORT TO MY SUPERIORS 

A NIGHT at the Greenwood cabin and I resumed 
** my journey to Salem on the Roanoke. Near 
this hamlet lived Colonel Andrew Lewis, to whom 
I was to report before carrying or forwarding Doc- 
tor Connolly’s despatches to Governor Dunmore. 
The trip was free from any incidents and seemed 
exceedingly tame after the stress of over-mountain 
travel. All the settlers I talked with were very 
anxious to know the true conditions along the bor- 
der. 

As I pressed on and found the cabins more 
thickly strewn along the various waters I was 
impressed by the belief of many that the Cherokees 
would join the Ohio tribes before the war ended. 
One would expect to find this apprehension to be 
the keenest where the danger would be the greatest. 
But not so. Whenever I related how Isaac Crab- 
tree had murdered Cherokee Billy, brother of the 
powerful Oconostota, the pessimists were positive 
that the Cherokee nation would lay down a red 
path. 

81 


82 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


Notwithstanding these natural fears the war 
remained popular with practically all the men with 
whom I talked. Various companies were being 
formed, and militia captains, to make sure of seeing 
active service, were not punctilious as to where 
and by what means they secured their men. There 
was much ill-natured bickering over this rivalry, 
with several matters assuming such proportions that 
only Colonel Lewis could straighten them out. 

The war was popular because the people realized 
a farther western expansion would be impossible 
until the Indians had been crowded back and firmly 
held behind the Ohio. Anything short of a per- 
manent elimination of the red menace was cried 
down. 

Much resentment was felt against the hotheads in 
Pennsylvania for openly accusing the Virginians of 
inciting the war to establish their land claims. It 
was widely known that the Pennsylvania Gazette 
had published charges against Doctor Connolly to 
the effect that his agents, acting under his orders, 
had fired on friendly Shawnees who were escorting 
white traders into Fort Pitt. Among these settlers 
east of the mountains the common complaint was 
about the scarcity of powder and lead. 

When within a few miles of my destination I 
came upon a group of settlers who were gathered 
about a travel-stained stranger. For the first time 
since leaving Dunlap’s Creek I found myself of 


I REPORT TO MY SUPERIORS 83 


second importance. This man was tanned by the 
weather to a deep copper color and wore a black 
cloth around his head in place of a cap. 

I halted on the edge of the group and waited for 
him to finish his narrative which must have been 
of lively interest if the rapt attention of the men 
and women was any gage. 

“ — and using the ax I jumped over his body, got 
to the horse and rode away,” his deep voice con- 
cluded. He spoke with a palpable effort and almost 
with a sing-song intonation. 

I dismounted and pressed forward, and told him : 

“You talk like an Indian.” 

“God’s marcy, young sir!” cried an old dame. 
“An’, please sweet grace, why shouldn’t he? Isn’t 
he Johnny Ward, took by the In j urns when a boy, 
an’ just managed to scoot free of ’em?” 

The man slowly looked me over, his face as im- 
movable as any Shawnee chief’s. Then with the 
slightest of hesitation between each two words he 
calmly informed me: 

“Escaped as the white woman says. Named John 
Ward. Indian name, Red Arrow. Now I am back 
with my people. Now I am John Ward again. I 
talk bad. I talked with Indians most the time all 
these years. With my old friends I will grow to 
talk better.” 

I congratulated him on his return to civilization. 
Many a man holding a high place in the colony’s 


8 4 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


government and in the affection of the people had 
been held in captivity; but few were the men who 
returned after spending so many years with the 
Indians. In that respect Ward’s case was unusual. 

“Your talk sounds all right to us,” said one of 
the men. “Mayhap you l’arned some things about 
the red hellions that’ll help our boys to give ’em 
pepper.” 

“I can lead you to their towns by the shortest 
trails. I can lead you to their new towns that 
white men can not find quick,” he replied, after a 
few moments’ pause, just as an Indian would wait 
before answering a question. 

Young Cousin flashed into my mind, and I asked: 

“Do you know of a white woman — she would be 
nineteen years old now — named Cousin? She was 
captured by Shawnees at Keeney’s Knob ten years 
ago.” 

For half a minute I was doubtful if he understood 
my query. Then he shook his head. I was disap- 
pointed as it seemed to be an excellent chance to 
learn whether the girl be dead or alive. Still talk- 
ing in his peculiar, halting way, he said : 

“She, the white woman, was killed, probably. If 
not that she would be taken to Detroit and sold. 
Now married and living on a Canada farm, proba- 
bly. Whites taken prisoners were not let to see each 
other. No whites were ever kept in the village 
where I lived.” 


I REPORT TO MY SUPERIORS 85 


“What village were you kept in?” 

“First in Lower Shawnee Town. Then in more 
towns. As I grew old they took me to the towns 
farthest from the Ohio. Then came a time when 
I went where I pleased, but they never took me on 
their war-paths south the Ohio.” 

By this time the country folk began to remember 
that I, too, was a newcomer, and should have much 
information or gossip. They turned from Ward 
and plied me with questions. I briefly recited for 
the twentieth time since leaving Dunlap’s Creek 
the conditions west of the mountains. 

Detailed cross-examination brought forth the hap- 
penings at Howard’s Creek and the murder of the 
four Grisdols, and the firing of the Edgely cabin. 
When I said that Black Hoof was in command of 
the Grisdol raiders my audience displayed nervous- 
ness, and more than one glance was cast toward the 
west. The effect on Ward was pronounced, also. 
Rising, he asked: 

“Catahecassa led that path? I must be going. 
It was from his band I escaped. His warriors fol- 
lowed me. I will go to the east before camping for 
the night.” 

“He’ll never dare come east of the mountains!” 
loudly declared one of the men. 

Ward’s face was inscrutable as he walked to his 
horse. As he vaulted into the saddle he remarked : 

“Black Hoof has a long arm.” 


86 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


So it happened that John Ward, the returned cap- 
tive, and I finished the distance to Salem. Tempta- 
tion assailed me as we reached the edge of the set- 
tlement. I had planned all the time to finish my 
business with Colonel Lewis at his home at Rich- 
field. I had planned this even after learning from 
Mrs. Davis of the Dales’ presence in Salem. 

Now, of a sudden, it seemed that I must hunt 
them up and look on Patricia once more. But Col- 
onel Lewis was waiting for me. I had endured 
three years without a glimpse of the girl ; and leav- 
ing Ward to ride on and relate his experience to the 
Salem people I skirted the town and pressed on to 
Richfield. 

Arriving at the Lewis home I was informed by 
a colored man that the colonel was not at the house, 
but somewhere about the grounds. 

“An’ please goodness, massa, I’s gwine to fotch 
him in two shakes of a houn’ dawg’s tail,” he told 
me. 

I threw myself on the grass and waited. Either 
the servant’s powers of “fotching” had been exag- 
gerated, or else the colonel was quite indifferent to 
my arrival. Nearly an hour passed before my 
meditations were interrupted. 

This was not my first visit to Richfield to report 
to the colonel, but I felt no better acquainted at the 
last meeting than at the first. There was a certain 


I REPORT TO MY SUPERIORS 87 


reserve in hi9 manner which held folks at arm’s 
length. This impression of aloofness was increased 
by his personal appearance. His tall figure and 
stern dark eyes made for austerity. 

In military affairs he was said to be overstrict in 
discipline; this from those who had served under 
him in former wars. Yet he stood very high in 
the esteem of the county militia and his superiors. 
Perhaps his severe mien was the natural result of a 
life filled with stormy experiences. From early man- 
hood he had been employed in fighting Indians. 

He was a captain of militia at the age of twenty- 
two. Twelve years later he was a major, serving 
under Colonel George Washington. He was se- 
riously wounded at Fort Necessity. He would have 
played a prominent part in Braddock’s first and last 
Indian battle had he not been detailed to complete 
a chain of frontier forts. He was in the disastrous 
Sandy Creek expedition the year following Brad- 
dock’s defeat 

In 1758 he was an officer under Forbes, and was 
one of those captured with Grant’s detachment. He 
escaped the stake only to be held a prisoner in Mon- 
treal. Later he led a force against the Cherokees; 
and in Pontiac’s War he commanded two hundred 
and fifty riflemen under Colonel Bouquet. Now 
he was picked to command one of the two armies 
that Governor Dunmore proposed to send against 
the Indian towns above the Ohio. 


88 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


Among the Indians the name of Lewis stood 
very high. The natives knew the colonel to be the 
son of that John Lewis who was long famed as an 
Indian fighter. It was commonly believed by red 
and white, and I have no reason to doubt the truth 
of it, that it was John Lewis who introduced red 
clover to America. 

Whether he did or did not, the Ohio Indians 
credited him with planting the first seed and said 
the color resulted from the blood of the red men 
he had slain. William and Charles Lewis, the col- 
onel's brothers, also were noted border men. 
Charles undoubtedly ranked as high for courage 
and astuteness as any frontiersman in Virginia. 

The colored man at last turned the corner of the 
house. Behind him, and not yet in sight, was the 
colonel, and he was not alone for I could hear his 
grave voice addressing some companion. 

“De c'unel dat stubbo'n I jes' have to talk mighty 
plain Tore I could make him pudge erlang/' proudly 
whispered the servant as he passed me. 

I sprang to my feet, and Colonel Lewis and His 
Excellency, John Murray, Earl of Dunmore, our 
royal governor, leisurely strolled into view. 

Colonel Lewis wore no wig and was smoking a 
pipe, of which he was inordinately fond. It was 
characteristic of him to be more democratic and 
careless in personal presentment when with his 
superiors than when meeting the rough and ready 
people of the border. 


I REPORT TO MY SUPERIORS 89 


Nor was Governor Dunmore given to set forms. 
He was forty-two years of age and in his prime, a 
man among men. He could be most democratic, 
and on this day there was none of the town beau’s 
fastidiousness in his dress. Yet his wig and his 
coat were a mode in themselves, while his shoe, knee 
and stock buckles were of gold. Ultra-genteel 
young bucks would have had such buckles set with 
brilliants, that they might twinkle and glitter at 
every mincing step. 

His Excellency walked with a man’s stride and 
gave the impression of being careless in dress, 
whereas, in fact, he always was perfect in his points. 
He dominated his attire and left you scarcely con- 
scious of it. The two of them had been discussing 
something with great earnestness for as they drew 
near me the colonel gestured with his pipe-stem, and 
His Excellency pushed back his wig and appeared 
inclined to disagree. 

“Lord, man! I tell you it’s their cursed pro- 
vincial jealousy. They malign the man.” 

“Your Excellency, I am not the judge,” Colonel 
Lewis calmly replied. “I simply repeat what I hear, 
and suggest how it may be disastrous to the cam- 
paign.” 

“Jealousy and slander!” heatedly declared the 
governor. Then his lively gaze rested on me. He 
frowned, as if trying to remember, then smiled with 
that graciousness he could so charmingly display 
when he deemed it worth while and said : 


90 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


“I’ve been keeping- you from your guest. Colonel. 
He looks brown and lean enough to have traveled 
far and to have brought a pretty earful. I know 
the face and ought to be calling him by name.” 

Colonel Lewis advanced a few steps and bowed 
slightly, and refreshed the governor’s recollection 
by saying : 

“He is Basdel Morris, Your Excellency. Of 
Prince William County originally. Before Your 
Excellency came to Virginia he came out here to act 
as scout and messenger between us and Fort Pitt.” 

“Fort Dunmore,” coldly corrected the governor* 
giving the name bestowed in honor of his earldom. 
Then with a genial smile : 

“I remember Mr. Morris distinctly. He has 
brought papers to me. I vow but he should have 
a good budget of news. If we could retire to the 
shade and escape this cursed heat ” 

“Inside, inside,” bruskly interrupted the colonel, 
and he waved us through the door with his pipe- 
stem. “We’ll find it cool in there.” 

And we did; and very pleasant too, and with 
many little comforts for those who wish to be indo- 
lent, such as foot-rests, and low tables for holding 
decanter and glasses and a sheaf of long pipes and 
some of Virginia’s superb tobacco. 

“No ceremony here, Mr. Morris. Sit down, man. 
We will play His Lordship is traveling in disguise.” 

“Forsooth! He has that which we are hungry to 
receive! It’s more fit we should stand while he 


I REPORT TO MY SUPERIORS 91 


takes his ease,” gaily exclaimed His Excellency. 
And he removed his wig and mopped his cropped 
poll and sipped appreciatively of the tall glass a 
soft-footed servant placed at his elbow. 

This was a most pleasing trait about His Excel- 
lency, and one which in happier times should have 
endeared him even to people who have small use for 
earls. He could make the young or diffident man 
feel more at home than could the democratic and 
autocracy-hating Andrew Lewis. Nor was it any 
affectation ; for we were soon to learn he could keep 
up with hardy borderers on long forest marches, and 
at that, proceed afoot and carry his own blanket and 
equipment like any backwoods volunteer. 

Colonel Lewis shot a glance at me and then at 
the governor, and I verily believed his dark eyes 
were laughing at one of us. Surely not at me, for 
I was too insignificant. I obtained an inkling as 
to the cause of his cynical amusement when he said : 

“Young Mr. Morris, while not forest-bred, has 
lived long enough in the woods as to make him 
blunt of tongue. Would Your Excellency prefer 
that he make a verbal report to me and that I reduce 
it to writing for your consideration?” 

“After what the Quakers have said I find my skin 
to be very thick except when it comes to something 
touching my personal honor,” coldly replied the 
governor. “Let the man tell what he will. We 
want the truth.” 

Until this moment I had barely opened my mouth. 


92 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


Now I produced the despatches committed to my 
care by Doctor Connolly. In presenting these to 
Governor Dunmore I remained standing, waiting to 
be dismissed. 

His Excellency, however, made no move to open 
and read his despatches, but fell to staring at me 
speculatively. Finally he said : 

“Let’s have the personal side — the things you 
observed on your journey back here.” And he 
motioned for me to be seated. 

I told them of Bald Eagle’s murder, and His 
Excellency exhibited hot anger, and broke in on my 
recital long enough to exclaim : 

“Curse their black hearts ! I drove John Ryan out 
of the country for murdering on the Cheat, Ohio, 
and the Monongahela. I’ve had others arrested, and 
their crazy neighbors have released them. I offer 
rewards for still others, and they come and go un- 
molested!” 

“Yes, it’s unfortunate that some of our border 
men are as murderous as the Indians,” quietly 
agreed Colonel Lewis. His Excellency subsided 
and nodded for me to continue. 

I next spoke of young Shelby Cousin, and the 
colonel’s eyes grew hard as I related the youth’s 
lament over his little sister, and, in his behalf, urged 
that some effort be made to ascertain the girl’s fate. 
The governor wrinkled his nose and brows in an 
effort to remember something. Then he said : 


I REPORT TO MY SUPERIORS 93 


“I knew the name was familiar. I’ve sent word 
to Connolly to seek traces of the girl through the 
different traders. The war has closed that line of 
inquiry, I fear, as the traders have come in, or have 
been slaughtered. Very sad case. Very sad. The 
young man should go to England to begin life anew 
and learn to forget. I shall arrange it for him.” 

“He would die before he would quit the woods. 
Your Excellency,” said the colonel. “If he did con- 
sent and did go to England he would die of home- 
sickness inside of ten days. Either that, or he would 
try to swim back.” 

“Rather a poor opinion of England’s charms,” 
remarked the governor. 

When I took up the general scarcity of powder 
and lead and described how handicapped the settlers 
were by the lack of these vital necessities, it was 
Colonel Lewis’s turn to show the most feeling. 

His anger was almost passionate, and none the 
less impressive because he held it in check. Star- 
ing wide-eyed at the governor he concluded his out- 
burst by demanding: 

“What about it, Your Excellency?” 

“What about it? Why, that’s something to ask 
of the House of Burgesses, wound all up in their red 
tape. His gracious Majesty suggested in ’sixty- 
three that insomuch as the colonies implored Eng- 
land’s aid against the French and Indians they 
should contribute something toward the cost of their 


94 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


defense in that war. Methinks they have taken the 
suggestion as an affront/’ 

“The French War is ten years' old. It was 
fought so that England might gain Canada. Vir- 
ginia is still a royal province and her people need 
powder and lead,” the colonel replied. Perhaps he 
stressed “still” a bit. At least the governor’s gaze 
dropped and concealed any impression he might 
have received. 

The governor drummed his fingers on the low 
liquor-stand, then lifted his head and stated: 

“This war will never be won by isolated groups 
of settlers fighting on the defensive along the many 
creeks and rivers. The decisive blow will be struck 
by the two armies soon to take the field. There 
will be plenty of powder for the men I lead and the 
men you are to lead. As to the back-country settle- 
ments, the House of Burgesses should have provided 
for them. His Majesty is eager to aid all his sub- 
jects, but there’s scant policy in serving our powder 
and balls to be husbanded along the western slope 
of the Alleghanies and perhaps later used against 
England’s soldiers.” 

Colonel Lewis dropped his pipe and stared 
wrathfully at his noble guest. With an effort he 
restrained his temper and rejoined: 

“The talk seems to touch upon some war other 
than that with the Ohio tribes.” 

His Excellency at once was all smiles and gra- 


I REPORT TO MY SUPERIORS 95 


ciousness. Leaning forward and placing a hand on 
the colonel’s knee, he earnestly declared : 

“The conversation has wandered, foolishly on my 
part, I admit. I have lacked in tact, but the first 
fault I swear is due to the attitude of the Bur- 
gesses in neglecting to take proper measures for 
defending the frontier. Before England can send 
sufficient supplies to Virginia this war will have 
ended. There is plenty of powder at Williamsburg. 
Why doesn’t the House of Burgesses send it to the 
border?” 

“There is but a small store at the most, Your 
Excellency.” 

“But why retain it when it is needed elsewhere?” 

“That is hardly a question I can answer,” was the 
stiff reply. Then with a flash of heat : 

“It’s a shame! We repeatedly urge those fam- 
ilies to stick, not to come off their creeks until 
they’ve laid by their corn and harvested their oats; 
and they are denied the simple means of defending 
their lives. Whether the Burgesses or the royal 
governor be at fault the fact remains that the settlers 
pay in blood and anguish.” 

“If there is any powder at Williamsburg or Nor- 
folk that I can lay hands to, it shall go over the 
mountains. At least the royal governor will prove 
his hands are clean,” solemnly declared His Excel- 
lency. 

“I’ll warrant that Pennsylvania has traded 


96 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


enough guns and powder to the Shawnee and 
Mingos," moodily observed the colonel. 

“There's too much talk in Williamsburg over 
peoples' rights, and not enough concern for peoples' 
lives," declared His Excellency. “It would be a 
good thing if the House of Burgesses could be 
locked up in a fort and made to repel an Indian 
attack." 

“Well, well," sighed the colonel, “we’ll never 
lick the Ohio tribes with proclamations and empty 
hands." 

“By gad, sir! We’ll whip them with powder and 
lead! I've set myself to the task of crushing the 
Indian power. It shall be done!" 

They settled back and signaled for me to resume 
my narrative. When I mentioned Crabtree and 
the other killers both the governor and the colonel 
expressed a wish that the Indians might catch them, 
or else scare them from the border. I closed my 
story by speaking of John Ward, the returned cap- 
tive. The military instinct of both my hearers was 
instantly aroused; for here was a source of inside 
information our spies could not hope to provide. 

“Find that man and send him here," ordered the 
governor. “But before you go tell us something of 
conditions about Fort Dunmore. You seem to have 
skipped that." 

This was what I had expected, and I did not 
relish the task’. Had I been talking alone with Col- 


I REPORT TO MY SUPERIORS 9 7 


onel Lewis it would have been the first topic I had 
touched upon. 

“Your Excellency has Doctor Connolly's des- 
patches. Doubtless they will give you much more 
than I can,” I faltered. 

“There isn't any danger of your duplicating Doc- 
tor Connolly's information,” said His Excellency 
sharply. 

“His Excellency desires to learn those odds and 
ends which wouldn't be included in an official 
report, but which may throw some light on the 
whole situation,” added the colonel, his gaze resting 
on me very insistently. And somehow I knew he 
wanted me to talk, and to speak plainly. 

If I reported according to my sense of duty I 
feared I was in for an unpleasant experience with 
His Excellency. If I would ever receive any favors 
from him it would be because I kept my mouth shut 
and steered clear of dangerous ground. The situa- 
tion at Pitt, however, had offended me; and now 
that I must speak I grew reckless and decided to 
speak frankly. 

“Arthur St. Clair, representing the Pennsylvania 
proprietors, together with other eminent men in 
that colony, publicly declared that Your Excellency 
is in partnership with Doctor Connolly in various 
land-deals,” I began. 

“Doctor Connolly has acted as my agent, just as 
his uncle, Michael Croghan, has acted for Colonel 


9 8 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


George Washington,” easily remarked His Excel- 
lency. 

“Croghan repudiates the acts of Connolly,” I said. 

Dunmore frowned and spoke wide of the mark 
when he said : 

“What St. Clair and his friends see fit to believe 
scarcely constitutes facts. But go on.” 

“They also say that this war with the Shawnees 
is being hurried on for the purpose of establishing 
our boundary-claims and making good our titles to 
grants under Virginia patents.” 

“Scarcely news. They’ve been howling that ever 
since last April,” growled Lewis. 

“I’ve been absent some months. I have no way 
of knowing what you’ve heard, or haven’t heard. 
I’m afraid I have nothing new in the way of facts 
or gossip,” I said, and my face flushed. 

Governor Dunmore laughed softly and good- 
naturedly nodded for me to continue. I said : 

“It is commonly believed in Pennsylvania that 
Connolly’s circular letter to our frontier was meant 
to precipitate a war so that he might cover up the 
costs of rebuilding Fort Pitt. It is said on all sides 
that the commandant fears the House of Burgesses 
w5ll repudiate his expenditures even after Your 
Excellency has endorsed them — providing there is 
no war.” 

The governor’s face colored, but his voice was 
quiet as he said : 


I REPORT TO MY SUPERIORS 99 


“Connolly may be a fool in many things, but he 
is right about the House of Burgesses. There isn't 
any doubt as to their repudiating anything which 
looks like a benefit to our frontier." 

“Your Excellency, I can scarcely agree to that," 
cut in Colonel Lewis. It was the second time their 
counter-views had struck out sparks. 

Both remained silent for half a minute, each, I 
have no doubt, controlling an impulse to explode. 
Relations between the colonies and England 
resembled an open powder-keg. With a bow that 
might indicate he desired to avoid a dangerous sub- 
ject the governor shifted the conversation by 
remarking : 

“After all, it doesn’t matter what Pennsylvania 
thinks, so long as we know her interests are hostile 
to Virginia’s. I am governor of Virginia. I will 
serve her interests, and by gad! if the Quakers don’t 
like our way they can chew their thumbs." 

“We are one in that!" heartily cried the colonel. 

Governor Dunmore frowned down at his gold 
shoe-buckles and wearily said : 

“They say I want war. But the Williamsburg 
paper has insisted on this war since last March. 
Truth is, the border wants the war. And let me 
confess to you, Colonel Lewis, that the Earl of 
Dartmouth, as Secretary of State for the colonies, 
will express His Majesty’s great displeasure to me 
before this war is over. 


IOO 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


“England does not want his campaign to go 
through. Taking the position I have means I will 
meet with disfavor and criticism at home.” 

Turning to me, he querulously complained. 

“And it’s you people along the border who make 
the war necessary. It’s the horrible massacres of 
harmless Indians that brought the trouble upon me.” 

This was grossly untrue and I countered : 

“Even Logan doesn't claim that. It’s been give 
and take as to the killings, with the Indians get- 
ting the better of it in scalps. A general war can 
result only from the Indians’ belief that our settlers 
are crossing the mountains to settle in the Kentucky 
country.” 

“Ah! There you go! True to the dot, too!” he 
cried. “You Americans are restless. You acquire 
no attachment to any place. Wandering about 
seems to be engrafted in your natures. It’s your 
great weakness that you should forever be thinking 
the lands farther off are better than those on which 
you’re already settled.” 

“But land-grants on the Ohio are worthless with- 
out settlers,” I meekly reminded. Colonel Lewis 
indulged in a frosty smile. His Excellency eyed 
me shrewdly, and said : 

“Of course the lands must be settled sometime. 
The trouble comes from the frontier people’s fail- 
ure to understand that His Majesty’s government 
has any right to forbid backwoodsmen from taking 


I REPORT TO MY SUPERIORS ioi 


over any Indian lands which happen to hit the 
fancy. 

“They have no idea of the permanent obligation 
of treaties which His Majesty’s government has 
made with the various Indian nations. Why, some 
of the frontier people feel so isolated from the col- 
onies that they wish to set up democratic govern- 
ments of their own. A pretty kettle of fish ! Then 
such creatures as this Crabtree murder such men as 
the brother of the powerful Cherokee chief. More 
trouble for the border. 

“I shall offer a reward of a hundred pounds for 
Crabtree’s arrest. If he is arrested the border men 
will release him. And yet they demand that His 
Majesty supply them with powder to defend their 
homes. Good God! What inconsistency! And 
as if we did not have enough trouble inside our 
colony there is Mr. Penn, to the north. As pro- 
prietary governor he sullies the dignity of his com- 
munications to the House of Representatives by 
making the same a conveyance of falsehood, thereby 
creating trouble between Pennsylvania and Vir- 
ginia. 

“He is even now trying to make my Lord Dart- 
mouth believe that my zeal in carrying on this war 
is not through any sense of duty to my king, but 
because of a desire for personal emoluments. If 
he can make the people of Virginia believe that, 
then I am helpless.” 


102 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


Certainly this defense of his motives was not 
meant to convert me. My ideas worried His Excel- 
lency none. He was testing Colonel Lewis, whose 
reserve made the broaching of delicate subjects 
very much of a difficulty. The colonel quickly de- 
clared : 

“Your Excellency knows that I thoroughly un- 
derstand the true bias of Pennsylvania. We are 
with you in this war heart and soul. But I do 
think, to put it mildly, that Doctor Connolly has 
been indiscreet.” 

He had come back to the one phase of the con- 
versation which interested him. The governor 
hesitated a moment, then asked me: 

“What is your personal opinion of Doctor Con- 
nolly ? Speak freely.” 

“I consider him to be a very ambitious, intriguing 
man, and very much of a fire-eater.” 

Both the gentlemen smiled, His Excellency being 
less genuine than the colonel. “To be an ambitious 
fire-eater is not a bad quality in these times,” said 
the governor. “As to intrigue, so long as it is for 
Virginia I will not condemn it too strongly. What 
other charges are there in your arraignment?” 

“I do not arraign him,” I retorted. Believing T 
had gone too far ever to retrieve myself in the gov- 
ernor’s good graces, and being made angry by the 
thought, I boldly continued : “Connolly is too auto- 
cratic. He carries things with too high a hand. He 


I REPORT TO MY SUPERIORS 103 


takes measures which neither Your Excellency, nor 
any other of His Majesty’s governors would dream 
of indulging in. He arrests and imprisons citizens 
without any pretense at legal procedure. It is 
because of such actions that many in Pennsylvania 
expressed the wish we might lose the war. I will 
add that I heard no such expressions of ill-will since 
the white families were murdered along the Monon- 
gahela.” 

“It does make a difference as to whose ox is 
being gored,” grimly commented Colonel Lewis. 

“Does Pennsylvania still blame Michael Cresap 
for the death of Logan’s people?” asked the gov- 
ernor. 

“Many of them do, because Connolly reduced him 
in rank. His reinstatement at Your Excellency’s 
command is not so generally known.” 

“Confusion and bickering !” wrathfully exclaimed 
the governor. “Virginia demanding a decisive 
war — England opposed to it. Our militia captains 
stealing each other’s men — Sir William Johnson’s 
death is most untimely.” 

Sir William Johnson dead! For the moment I 
was stunned. My facial expression was so pro- 
nounced that His Excellency kindly added: 

“The sad news has just reached us. Never was 
he needed more and wanted more. The colonies 
have been so used to having him hold the Iroquois 
in check that few have paused to picture what might 


104 A VIRGINIA SCOUT 

happen if his influence were removed from the Six 
Nations.” 

He rose and paced the room for a few turns. 
Then with a short bow to me he addressed the 
colonel, saying: 

“With your permission, Colonel, I believe I shall 
retire for an hour. When the man Ward comes I 
wish to question him.” 

“By all means, Your Excellency, take a bit of 
rest. I shall call you if the fellow comes.” 

I turned to go and the colonel walked with me to 
the door, urging me to return and remain his guest 
that night. I thanked him, explaining an acceptance 
of his kind offer would depend on circumstances. 
He walked with me to my horse and with a side- 
glance at the house softly inquired : 

“What do the people over the mountains and in 
Pennsylvania say about the Quebec Bill now before 
Parliament ?” 

“I do not remember hearing it mentioned. I do 
not think any of the settlers are interested in it.” 

“Not interested!” he groaned. “And if it is ap- 
proved* by Parliament the American colonies will 
be robbed of hundreds of thousands of square miles 
of territory. They will lose the lands which already 
have been given them in their own charters. Think 
of Virginia and Pennsylvania quarreling over the 

*The Quebec Bill, to take effect in 1775, was approved 
June 22, 1774, or before Colonel Lewis and Morris had their 
conversation. 


I REPORT TO MY SUPERIORS 105 


junction of two rivers when we stand fair to lose 
all the country west of the Alleghanies. Young 
man, there's going to be war.” This was very 
softly spoken. 

“ We're in it now,” I stupidly replied. 

“ I am speaking of war with England,” he whis- 
pered. 

I could scarcely accept it as being a true prophecy. 
I was not disturbed by it. The quarreling between 
colonies and the mother-country was an old story. 
Hiding my skepticism I asked, “When will it 
begin ?” 

“It began in 1763, when the English Ministry 
decided to collect revenues from the colonies,” was 
the quiet reply. “It will soon be open war. I 
verily believe I am entertaining in my humble home 
to-day the last royal governor of Virginia.” 


CHAPTER V 


LOVE COMES A CROPPER 

<*¥ AM speaking of a war with England.” These 

1 words of Colonel Lewis rang in my ears as I 
rode to Salem. They had sounded fantastic when 
he uttered them. Now that I was alone they re- 
peated themselves most ominously. The flying 
hoofs of my horse pounded them into my ears. 
War with England was unthinkable, and yet the col- 
oriel’s speech lifted me up to a dreary height and 
I was gazing over into a new and very grim world. 

For years, from my first connected thoughts, 
there had been dissension after dissension between 
England and America. My father before me had 
lived through similar disputes. But why talk of 
war now ? Many times the colonies had boiled over 
a bit; then some concession was made, and what 
our orators had declared to be a crisis died out and 
became a dead issue. 

To be sure another “crisis” always took the 
place of the defunct one, but the great fact remained 
that none of those situations had led to war. Per- 
haps if some one other than Colonel Lewis had 
106 


LOVE COMES A CROPPER 107 

indulged in the dire foreboding it would have made 
less of an impression. At the time he spoke the 
words I had not been disturbed. Now that I was 
remembering what an unemotional level-headed 
man he was the effect became accumulative. The far- 
ther I left Richfield behind and the longer I mulled 
over his sinister statement the more I worried. 

As I neared Salem my meditations continued dis- 
quieting and yet were highly pleasing. I was on 
my way to meet Patricia Dale. I was born on the 
/ Mattapony and left an orphan at an early age. I 
had gone to Williamsburg when turning sixteen, 
and soon learned to love and wear gold and silver 
buckles on a pewter income. 

In my innocence, rather ignorance, I unwittingly 
allowed my town acquaintances to believe me to be a 
chap of means. When I discovered their false esti- 
mate I did not have the courage to disillusion them. 
My true spending-pace was struck on my eighteenth 
birthday, and inside the year I had wasted my King 
William County patrimony. 

Just what process of reasoning I followed during 
that foolish year I have never been able to deter- 
mine. I must have believed it to be imperative that 
I live up to the expectations of my new friends. As 
a complement to this idiotic obsession there must 
have been a grotesque belief that somehow, by acci- 
dent or miracle, I would be kept in funds indefi- 
nitely. 


108 A VIRGINIA SCOUT 

I do recall my amazement at the abrupt ending of 
my dreams. I woke up one morning to discover I 
had no money, no assets. There were no odds and 
ends, even, of wreckage which I could salvage for 
one more week of the old life. 

Among my first friends had been Ericus Dale and 
his daughter, Patricia. To her intimates she was 
known as Patsy. As was to be expected when an 
awkward boy meets a dainty and wonderful maid, 
I fell in love completely out of sight. At nineteen 
I observed that the girl, eighteen, was becoming a 
toast among men much older and very, very much 
more sophisticated than I. 

She was often spoken of as the belle of Charles 
City County, and I spent much time vainly wishing 
she was less attractive. Her father, engaged in the 
Indian-trade, and often away from home for several 
months at a time, had seemed to be very kindly dis- 
posed to me. 

I instinctively hurried to the Dales to impart the 
astounding fact that I was bankrupt. One usually 
speaks of financial reverses as “crashing about” 
one's head. My wind-up did not even possess that 
poor dignity; for there was not enough left even 
to rattle, let alone crash. 

The youth who rode so desperately to the Dale 
home that wonderful day tragically to proclaim his 
plight, followed by fervid vows to go away and 
make a new fortune, has long since won my sym- 


LOVE COMES A CROPPER 109 

pathy. I have always resented Ericus Dale’s atti- 
tude toward that youth on learning he was a pauper. 
It is bad enough to confess to a girl that one has not 
^ enough to marry on; but it is hell to be compelled 
to add that one has not enough to woo on. 

How it wrung my heart to tell her I was an im- 
postor, that I was going to the back-country and 
begin life all over. Poor young devil ! How many 
like me have solemnly declared their intentions to 
begin all over, whereas, in fact, they never had 
begun at all. 

And why does youth in such juvenile cataclysms 
feel forced to seek new fields in making the fresh 
start? Shame for having failed, I suppose. An 
unwillingness to toe the scratch under the handicap 
of having his neighbors know it is his seconl trial. 

But so much had happened since that epochal day 
back in Williamsburg that it seemed our parting had 
been fully a million years ago. It made me smile 
to remember how mature Patsy had been when I 
meekly ran her errands and gladly wore her yoke 
in the old days. 

Three years of surveying, scouting and despatch- 
bearing through the trackless wilderness had aged 
me. I prided myself I was an old man in worldly 
wisdom. Patsy Dale had only added three years 
to her young life. I could even feel much at ease 
in meeting Ericus Dale. And yet there had been 
no day during my absence that I did not think of 


no 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


her, still idealizing her, and finding her fragrant 
memory an anodyne when suffering in the wilder- 
ness. 

The sun was casting its longest shadows as I 
inquired for the house and rode to it. If my heart 
went pit-a-pat when I dismounted and walked to 
the veranda it must have been because of anticipa- 
tion. As I was about to rap on the casing of the 
open door I heard a deep voice exclaim : 

“This country’s going to the dogs! We need the 
regulars over here. Using volunteers weakens a 
country. Volunteers are too damned independent. 
They’ll soon get the notion they’re running things 
over here. Put me in charge of Virginia, and I’d 
make some changes. I’d begin with Dunmore and 
wind up with the backwoodsmen. Neither Whigs 
nor Tories can save this country. It’s trade we 
want, trade with the Indians.” 

I could not hear that any one was answering him, 
and after a decent interval I rapped again. At last 
I heard a slow heavy step approaching from the cool 
twilight of the living-room. 

“Aye? You have business with me, my man?” 
demanded Dale, staring into my face without ap- 
pearing to recognize me. He had changed none that 
I could perceive. Short, square as though chopped 
out of an oak log. His dark hair still kinked a bit 
and suggested great virility. His thick lips were 
pursed as of old, and the bushy brows, projecting 


LOVE COMES A CROPPER 


hi 


nearly an inch from the deep-set eyes, perhaps had a 
bit more gray in them than they showed three years 
back. 

“Ericus Dale, you naturally have forgotten me,” 
I began. “I am Basdel Morris. I knew you and 
your daughter three years ago in Williamsburg.” 

“Oh, young Morris, eh? Pm better at remem- 
bering Indian faces than white. Among ’em so 
much. So you’re young Morris, who made a fool 
of himself trying to be gentry. Sit down. Turned 
to forest-running, I should say.” And he advanced 
to the edge of the veranda and seated himself. He 
had not bothered to shake hands. 

“I had business with Colonel Lewis and I wished 
to see you and Patsy before going back,” I ex- 
plained. I had looked for bluntness in his greeting, 
but I had expected to be invited inside the house. 

“Pat’s out,” he mumbled, his keen gaze roaming 
up and down my forest garb. “But she’ll be back. 
Morris, you don’t seem to have made much of a hit 
at prosperity since coming out this way.” 

“I’m dependent only on myself,” I told him. 
“Personal appearance doesn’t go for much when 
you’re in the woods.” 

“Ain’t it the truth?” he agreed. “In trade?” 

“Carrying despatches between Fort Pitt and Gov- 
ernor Dunmore just now. Surveying before that.” 

“Then, by Harry, sir! You could be in better 
business,” he snapped. “What with Dunmore at 


1 12 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


the top, and thieving, land-grabbing settlers at the 
bottom, this country is going to the devil! Dun- 
more cooks up a war to make a profit out of his 
land-jobbing! Settlers quit good lands on this side 
the mountains to go land-stealing in the Kentucky 
country and north of the Ohio. It riles my blood! 
I say you could be in better business than helping 
along the schemes of Dunmore and that trained 
skunk of his, Jack Connolly.” 

I smiled pleasantly, beginning to remember that 
Ericus Dale was always a freely spoken man. 

“Do you mean that there is no need of this war? 
You say it is cooked up.” 

“Need of war?” he wrathfully repeated. “In 
God’s mercy why should we have war with the 
Indians ? All they ask is to be let alone ! Ever see 
a single piaster of profit made out of a dead Indian 
unless you could sell his hair? Of course not. The 
Indians don’t want war. What they want is trade. 
I’ve lived among ’em. I know. It’s Dunmore and 
the border scum who want war. They want to steal 
more land.” 

I had no wish to quarrel with the man, but I, too, 
had been among the Indians; and I could not in 
decency to myself allow his ridiculous statements to 
go unchallenged. 

“How can the country expand unless the settlers 
have land? And if the Indians block the trail how 
can we get the land without fighting for it? Surely 


LOVE COMES A CROPPER 


ii3 

it was never intended that five or more square miles 
of the fairest country on earth should be devoted to 
keeping alive one naked red hunter.” 

He fairly roared in disgust. Then with an effort 
to be calm he began : 

“Land? Settlers? You can’t build a profit on 
land and settlers. Why, the colonies already refuse 
to pay any revenue to England. Line both sides of 
the Ohio with log cabins and stick a white family 
in each and what good does it do? Did the French 
try to settle Canada? No! The French weren’t 
fools. They depended on trade.” 

“But they lost Canada,” I reminded. 

“Bah ! For a purely military reason. The future 
of this country is trade. England’s greatness is 
built up on trade.” His trick of jumping his voice 
on that word “trade” was very offensive to the 
ears. 

“Pennsylvania has the right idea. Pennsylvania 
is prosperous. Pennsylvania doesn’t go round chop- 
ping down bee-trees and then killing the bees to get 
the honey. What good is this land over here if 
you can’t get fur from it? Settlers chop down the 
timber, burn it, raise measly patches of com, live 
half-starved, die. That’s all.” 

His crazy tirade nettled me. It was obvious I 
could not keep in his good books, even with Patricia 
as the incentive, without losing my self-respect. I 
told him : 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


1 14 

“This country can never develop without settled 
homes. We’re building rudely now, but a hundred 
years from now ” 

“Yah !” And his disgust burst through the thick 
lips in a deep howl. “Who of us will be alive a 
hundred years from now? Were we put on earth 
to slave and make fortunes for fools not yet born? 
Did any fools work and save up so we could take 
life soft and easy? You make me sick!” 

“I’m sorry, Mr. Dale, to hear you say that. How- 
ever, the war is here ” 

“The war may be here, in Virginia, among the 
backwoodsmen. It is also in Dunmore’s heart, but 
it ain’t in the hearts of the Indians,” he passionately 
contradicted. “The Indians only ask to be let alone, 
to be allowed to trade with us. Some canting hypo- 
crites are whining for us to civilize the Indians. 
Why should they be civilized ? Do they want to be ? 
Ever hear of Indians making a profit out of our 
civilization? Did the Conestoga Indians make a 
profit when they tried to live like the whites near 
Lancaster, and the Paxton boys killed fourteen 
of them, men, women and children, then broke into 
the Lancaster jail where the others had been placed 
for their safety, and butchered the rest of them ? 

“Did the ancient Virginia Indians prosper by 
civilization? I reckon if the old Powhatans could 
return they’d have some mighty warm things to say 
on that score. Why shouldn’t the Indians insist we 


LOVE COMES A CROPPER 115 

live as they do? They were here first. The only 
way to help the Indian is to trade with him. And 
when you help him that way you’re helping yourself. 
That’s the only point you can ever make a red man 
see. 

“I know the Indians. I can go into their towns 
now, be they Cherokee, Mingo, Shawnee or Dela- 
ware, and they’ll welcome me as a brother. They 
know I don’t want their land. They know I’m their 
true friend. They want me to make a profit when 
I trade with them, so I’ll come again with more 
rum and blankets and guns, and gay cloth for their 
women.” 

“You have the trader’s point of view, and very 
naturally so,” I said. 

“Thank God I ain’t got the land-grabber’s point 
of view! Nor the canting hypocrite’s point of 
view! Nor a thick-headed forest-runner’s point of 
view!” he loudly stormed, rising to end the discus- 
sion. 

But I was not to be balked, and I reminded him : 

“I called to pay my respects to Mistress Dale. I 
hope I may have the pleasure.” 

“She’s in the field back of the house. I’ll call 
her,” he grumbled. “I have a man in my kitchen, a 
white man, who has lived with the Indians ever 
since he was a boy. He knows more about them 
than all you border-folks could learn in a million 
years. He’s the most sensible white man I ever 


n6 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


met. He agrees with me perfectly that trade is 
what the Indian wants; not settlers nor Bibles.” 

“Your guest would be John Ward !” I exclaimed, 
remembering the governor’s errand. “I was asked 
by Colonel Lewis to find him and send him to Rich- 
field. The colonel and Governor Dunmore wish to 
talk with him.” 

“Ho! Ho! That’s the way the cat jumps, eh? 
Want to milk him for military information, eh? 
Well, I reckon I’ll go along with him and see they 
don’t play no tricks on him. I’ve taken a strong 
liking to Ward. He’s the one white man that’s got 
my point of view.” 

“He lived with the Indians so long he may have 
the Indians’ point of view,” I warned. 

“The sooner white men learn the Indians’ point 
of view the better it’ll be for both white and red. 
Ward knows the Indians well enough to know I’m 
their friend. He knows I’m more’n welcome in 
any of their towns. I’m going to carry a talk to 
Cornstalk and Black Hoof. If I can’t stop this war 
I can fix it so’s there’ll never be any doubt who’s 
to blame for it.” 

“I tell you, Dale, that no white men, except it be 
Ward or Tavenor Ross and others like them, are 
safe for a minute with Logan’s Cayugas, Cornstalk’s 
Shawnees, Red Hawk’s Delawares, or Chiyawee’s 
Wyandots.” 

“Three years ain’t even made a tomahawk im- 


LOVE COMES A CROPPER 117 

provement on you,” he sneered. “You mean to tell 
me that after all my years of friendship with the 
Indians I won’t be safe among them, or that any 
friends I take along won’t be safe among them? 
You talk worse’n a fool! I can send my girl alone 
into the Scioto villages, and once she gives belts from 
me she will be as safe as she would be in Williams- 
burg or Norfolk.” 

“Such talk is madness,” I cried. “The one mes- 
sage your cousin, Patrick Davis’ wife, on How- 
ard’s Creek, asked me to deliver to your daughter 
is for her not to cross the mountains until the Indian 
trouble is over.” 

“An old biddy whose husband is scared at every 
Indian he sees because he knows he’s squatting on 
their lands. My cousin may not be safe on How- 
ard’s Creek, but my daughter would be. I’ll say 
more; once the Indians know I am at Howard’s 
Creek, they’ll spare that settlement.” 

It was useless to argue with the man. It was 
almost impossible to believe that he meant his 
vaporings for seriousness. With a scowl he walked 
to the rear of the house and entered the kitchen. 
All the windows were open, and his voice was deep 
and heavy. I heard him say: 

“Ward, I want you. We’re going to have a talk 
with two white men, who don’t understand Indians. 
Pat, that young cub of a forest-running Morris is 
out front. Hankers to see you, I ’low.” 


ii8 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


My leather face was still on fire when I heard 
the soft swish of skirts. Then she stood before me, 
more beautiful than even my forest-dreaming had 
pictured her, more desirable than ever. She courte- 
sied low, and the amazing mass of blue-black hair 
seemed an over-heavy burden for the slim white 
neck to carry. 

She smiled on me and I found my years dropping 
away like the leaves of the maple after its first mad 
dance to the tune of the autumn’s wind. I felt fully 
as young as when I saw her in Williamsburg. And 
time had placed a distance other than that of years 
between us : it had destroyed the old familiarity. 

To my astonishment we were meeting as casual 
acquaintances, much as if a chin-high barrier was 
between us. It was nothing like that I had pictured. 
I had supposed we would pick up the cordiality at 
the first exchange of glances. I stuck out my hand 
and she placed her hand in it for a moment. 

“Basdel, I would scarcely have known you. 
Taller and thinner. And you’re very dark.” 

“Wind and weather,” I replied. “It was at How- 
ard’s Creek I learned you were here. I was very 
anxious to see you.” 

“Don’t stand.” And she seated herself and I 
took a chair opposite her. “So nice of you to have 
us in mind. It’s some three years since.” 

“I reckon your father doesn’t fancy me much.” 

“He’s displeased with you about something,” she 


LOVE COMES A CROPPER 119 

readily agreed. “You mustn’t mind what he says. 
He’s excitable.” 

“If I minded it I’ve forgotten it now,” I told her. 
I now had time to note the cool creamy whiteness 
of her arms and throat and to be properly amazed. 
She had been as sweet and fresh three years before, 
but I was used to town maids then, and accepted 
their charms as I did the sunshine and spring flow- 
ers. But for three years I had seen only frontier 
women, and weather and worry and hard work had 
made sad work of delicate complexions. 

“Now tell me about yourself,” she commanded. 

There was not much to tell; surveying, scouting, 
despatch-bearing. When I finished my brief recital 
she made a funny little grimace, too whimsical to 
disturb me, and we both laughed. Then quite se- 
riously she reminded me : 

“But, Basdel, your last words were that you were 
to make a man of yourself.” 

In this one sentence she tagged my forest work 
as being valueless. Had I been the boy who rode 
through the May sunshine frantically to announce 
his poverty, I might have accepted her verdict as a 
just sentence. Now there was a calculating light 
in her dark blue eyes that put me on my mettle. 
She was throwing down a red ax. 

“I am self-dependent,” I said. “I never was that 
in Williamsburg. I have risked much. Before 
crossing the mountains, I did not dare risk even 


120 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


your displeasure. I have done things that men on 
the frontier think well of. When you knew me back 
East I only succeeded in making a fool of myself. 
The carrying of despatches between Fort Pitt and 
Botetourt County is considered to be rather impor- 
tant.” 

“But, please mercy, there’s more important things 
for young men to do than these you’ve mentioned,” 
she softly rebuked. 

“If the work of surveying lands for homes and 
settlements, if the scouting of wild country to pro- 
tect settlements already established, if keeping a line 
of communication open between the Ohio and the 
James are not important tasks, then tell me what 
are?” I demanded. 

She was displeased at my show of heat. 

“There’s no call for your defending to me your 
work over the mountains,” she coldly reminded. 
“As an old friend I was interested in you.” 

“But tell me what you would consider to have 
been more important work,” I persisted. “I hon- 
estly believed I was working into your good opinion. 
I believed that once you knew how seriously I was 
taking life, you would be glad of me.” 

“Poor Basdel,” she soothed. “I mustn’t scold 
you.” 

“Pitying me is worse,” I corrected. “If you can’t 
understand a man doing a man’s work at least with- 


LOVE COMES A CROPPER 


121 


hold your sympathy. I am proud of the work I 
have done.” 

This ended her softer mood. 

“You do right to think well of your work,” she 
sweetly agreed. “But there are men who also take 
pride in being leaders of affairs, of holding office 
and the like.” 

“And going into trade,” I was rash enough to 
suggest. 

With a stare that strongly reminded me of her 
father she slowly said : 

“In trade? Why not? Trade is most honor- 
able. The world is built up on trade. Men in trade 
usually have means. They have comfortable homes. 
They can give advantages to those dependent upon 
them. Trade? Why, the average woman would 
prefer a trader to the wanderer, who owns only his 
rifle and what game he shoots.” 

“Patsy, that is downright savagery,” I warmly 
accused. “Come, be your old self. We used to be 
mighty good friends three years ago. Be honest 
with me. Didn’t you like me back in Williams- 
burg?” 

The pink of her cheeks deepened, but she quietly 
countered : 

“Why, Basdel, I like you now. If I didn’t I never 
would bother to speak plainly to you.” 

Three years’ picture-painting was turning out to 
be dream-stuff. I tried to tell myself I was foolish 


122 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


to love one so much like Ericus Dale; but the lure 
was there and I could no more resist it than a bear 
can keep away from a honey-tree. 

She had shown herself to be contemptuous in 
reviewing the little I had done. She was blind to 
the glory of to-morrow and more than filled with 
absurd crotchets, and yet there was but one woman 
in America who could make my heart run away from 
control. If it couldn't be Patsy Dale it could be no 
one. 

“Back in Williamsburg, before I made such a 
mess of my affairs, you knew I loved you." 

“We were children — almost." 

“But I've felt the same about you these three 
years. Eve looked ahead to seeing you. I’ve — 
well, Patsy, you can guess how I feel. Do I carry 
any hope with me when I go back to the forest?" 

The color faded from her face and her eyes were 
almost wistful as she met my gaze unflinchingly, 
and gently asked : 

“Basdel, is it fair for a man going back to the 
forest to carry hope with him ? The man goes once 
and is gone three years. What if he goes a second 
time and is gone another three years? And then 
what if he comes back, rifle in hand, and that’s all ? 
What has he to offer her? A home in the wilder- 
ness? But what if she has always lived in town and 
isn’t used to that sort of life?" 

“But if she loves the man ” 


LOVE COMES A CROPPER 


123 


“But what if she believes she doesn’t love him 
quite enough to take him and his rifle and live in 
the woods? Has he any more right to expect that 
sacrifice than she has the right to expect him to leave 
the forest and rifle and make his home where she 
always has lived?” 

“I suppose not. But I, too, like the scenes and 
things you like. I don’t intend spending all my life 
fighting Indians and living in the forest.” 

“If your absence meant something definite,” she 
sighed. 

“Meaning if I were in trade,” I bitterly said. 

The kindly mood was gone. She defiantly ex- 
claimed : 

“And why not? Trade is honorable. It gets one 
somewhere. It has hardships but it brings rewards. 
You come to me with your rifle. You talk senti- 
ment. I listen because we were fond of each other 
in a boy-and-girl way. We mustn’t talk this way 
any more. You always have my best wishes, but I 
never would make a frontier woman. I like the 
softer side of life too much.” 

“Then you will not wait? Will not give me any 
hope?” 

“Wait for what? Another three years; and you 
coming back with your long rifle and horse. Is 
that fair to ask any woman?” 

“No. Not when the woman questions the fair- 
ness. ‘Another three years’ are your words, not 


124 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


mine. I shall see this war through, and then turn 
selfish. What I have done is good for me. It will 
serve to build on.” 

“I’m sure of it,” she agreed. “And you always 
have my best — my best wishes.” 

“And down in your heart you dare care some, or 
you wouldn’t talk it over with me,” I insisted. 

“We liked each other as boy and girl. Perhaps 
our talk is what I believe I owe to that friendship. 
Now tell me something about our backwoods set- 
tlements.” 

In story-writing the lover should, or usually does, 
fling himself off the scene when his attempt at love- 
making is thwarted. Not so in life with Patsy. I 
believed she cared for me, or would care for me if 
I could only measure up to the standard provided 
for her by her father’s influence. 

So instead of running away I remained and tried 
to give her a truthful picture of border conditions. 
She understood my words but she could not visual- 
ize what the cabins stood for. They were so many 
humble habitations, undesirable for the town-bred 
to dwell in, rather than the symbols of many, happy 
American homes. She pretended to see when she 
was blind, but her nods and bright glances deceived 
me none. She had no inkling of what a frontier 
woman must contend with every day, and could she 
have glimpsed the stern life, even in spots, it would 
be to draw back in disgust at the hardships involved. 


LOVE COMES A CROPPER 


125 


So I omitted all descriptions of how the newly 
married were provided with homes by a few hours* 
work on the part of the neighbors, how the simple 
furniture was quickly fashioned from slabs and sec- 
tions of logs, how a few pewter dishes and the hus- 
band’s rifle constituted the happy couple’s worldly 
possessions. She wished to be nice to me, I could 
see. She wished to send me away with amiable 
thoughts. 

“It sounds very interesting,” she said. “Father 
must take me over the mountains before we return 
to town.” 

“Do not ask him to do that,” I cried. And I 
repeated the message sent by Mrs. Davis. 

She was the one person who always had her own 
way with Ericus Dale. She smiled tolerantly and 
scoffed : 

“Father’s cousin sees danger where there isn’t 
any. No Indian would ever bother me once he know 
I was my father’s daughter.” 

“Patsy Dale,” I declared in my desperation. “I’ve 
loved you from the day I first saw you. I love you 
now. It’s all over between us because you have 
ended it. But do not for your own sake cross the 
mountains until the Indian danger is ended. How- 
ard’s Creek is the last place you should visit. Why, 
even this side of the creek I had to fight for my life. 
The Indians had murdered a family of four, two of 
them children.” 


126 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


She gave a little shudder but would not surrender 
her confidence in her father. 

“One would think I intended going alone. I 
know the Indians are killing white folks, and are 
being killed by white folks. But with my father 
beside me ” 

“If you love your father keep him on this side 
of the Alleghanies !” 

“You will make me angry, Basdel. I don’t want 
to be displeased with you. My father has known 
the Indians for years. He has warm friends in 
every tribe. He is as safe among them as he is here 
in Salem. And if Howard’s Creek is in danger he 
can request the Indians to keep away from it.” 

“Good God! Are you as blind as all that?” I 
groaned. 

“Forest-running, Basdel, has made you violent 
and rough in your talk,” she icily rebuked. “You 
hate the Indians simply because you do not under- 
stand them. Now I’m positive that the best thing 
for you to do is to keep away from the frontier and 
see if you can’t start right on this side of the moun- 
tains.” 

It would be folly to argue with her longer. I 
fished a pair of moccasins, absurdly small, from the 
breast of my hunting-shirt and placed them on the 
table. I had bought them from a squaw in White 
Eyes’ village, and they were lavishly embroidered 
with gay beads. The squaw had laughed when I 
told the size I wanted. 


LOVE COMES A CROPPER 


127 


“If you will forget these came from the forest 
and will let me leave them, I shall be pleased,” I 
said. “If you don’t care for them, just chuck them 
aside. I had to guess at the size.” 

“Oh, they are beautiful,” she softly exclaimed, 
snatching them from the table. “Blasdel, why not 
stay on this side of the mountains? You’re a very 
clever young man if you would only give yourself 
a chance. Very soon you could go to the House of 
Burgesses. If you don’t care to go into trade you 
could speculate in land. Father is against it, but 
if it will be done, you might as well do it as to 
leave the cream for others.” 

“Even if I wished to stay, I could not,” I replied. 
“I have much to do over there. Unfinished work. 
I have promised Colonel Lewis to carry despatches 
when not scouting. If they can send some one to 
Fort Pitt in my place I shall serve as scout in the 
Clinch River Valley. The people down there are 
badly upset.” 

“Well, giving yourself for others may be very 
Christian-like. One must decide for one’s self,” 
she said. 

“The people over there help one another. They 
stand together. If I can help them, I shall be help- 
ing myself.” 

“I wish my father could go there and make them 
see how silly they are,” she impatiently declared. 
“If they would only be friendly with the Indians! 
It is so simple ” 


128 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


“I know a fellow about your age,” I broke in. 
‘The Indians killed his people on Keeney's Knob 
ten years ago and stole his little sister. He doesn't 
know whether she is dead or a captive. His folks 
were friendly. They were butchered after making 
a feast for Cornstalk and his warriors. There are 
many such cases. It would do no good for your 
father to tell young Cousin and others, who hap- 
pened to survive, that they are silly.” 

“Do you mean they would resent it ?” she 
demanded, her chin going up in a very regal manner. 

“He could scarcely change their opinions,” I 
mumbled. 

We were interrupted by a colored woman bustling 
in with Colonel Lewis' servant in tow. The man 
bowed profoundly before Patsy and then informed 
me : 

“Please, Massa Morris, de c’unel 'mires fo’ to see 
yo' at de house right erway. I 'spects it’s business 
fo' de gun’ner. De c’unel mos’ 'tic’lar dat say he 
wants to see yo’ to once. Yas, sah. Please, sah.” 

I dismissed him with a word of my immediate at- 
tendance on the colonel. Then I gave my hand to 
Patsy and said : 

“This ends it then. Patsy, my thoughts of you 
have helped me out of many tight places.” 

“If you’d only be sensible, Basdel, and stay back 
here where you belong. Just say the word and 
father will place you in his office. I’m sure of it.” 


LOVE COMES A CROPPER 


129 


“So am I sure of it, if you asked it. No, Patsy, 
it can’t be that way. I thank you. I may be an 
awful failure, but I can always fool myself with 
hoping for better things. If I was pushed into 
trade, that would end me.” 

“Of course you know your limitations better than 
I do,” she coldly said. “Thanks for the pretty moc- 
casins. I may have a chance to wear them soon.” 

“Do not wear them over the mountains,” I 
begged. “You were never meant for the frontier. 
Good-by.” 

I had mounted my horse and was galloping back 
to Richfield almost before I had realized how defin- 
itely I had separated from her. There was so much 
I had intended to say. My thoughts grew very bit- 
ter as I repeatedly lived over our short and unsat- 
isfactory meeting. I recalled patches of the bright 
dreams filling my poor noodle when I was riding 
to meet her, and I smiled in derision at myself. 

I had carried her in my heart for three years, and 
because daily I had paid my devotion to her I had 
been imbecile enough to imagine she was thinking 
of me in some such persistent way. Patsy Dale was 
admired by many men. Her days had been filled 
with compliments and flattery. 

My face burned as though a whip had been laid 
across it when I recalled her frank skepticism of my 
ability to support a wife. I had a rifle. Several 
times she had thrust that ironical reminder at me, 


130 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


which meant I had nothing else. I came to her car- 
rying my rifle. It was unfair to tie a girl with a 
promise when the wooer had only his rifle. 

The damnable repetition kept crawling through 
my mind. She wanted to impress the fact of my 
poverty upon me. I worked up quite a fine bit of 
anger against Patsy. I even told myself that had I 
come back with profits derived from peddling rum 
to the Indians, I might have found her more suscep- 
tible to my approach. Altogether I made rather a 
wicked game of viewing the poor girl in an unsav- 
ory light. 

With a final effort I declared half-aloud that she 
was not worth a serious man’s devotion. And it got 
me nowhere. For after all, the remembrance of her 
as she stood there, with her slim white neck and the 
mass of blue-black hair towering above the up- 
turned face, told me she must ever fill my thoughts. 

I reached Richfield early in the evening. Gov- 
ernor Dunmore had retired against an early start 
for Williamsburg. It was Colonel Lewis’ wish that 
I ride without delay to Charles Lewis’ place at 
Staunton, something better than eighty miles, and 
confer with him over the situation on the frontier* 

“My brother has recently received intelligences 
from Fort Pitt which state the Indians are anxious 
for peace,” explained the colonel. 

“A parcel of lies,” I promptly denounced. 

“So say I. But the written statements are very 


LOVE COMES A CROPPER 


131 

plausible. They have made an impression on 
Charles. It is very important that he know the 
truth. It will be much better for you to talk with 
him than for me to try to send him your statements 
in writing. Haste is necessary. Leave your horse 
and take one of mine.” 

“Have your man bring out the horse. I will start 
now.” 

“A prompt response,” he said. “And most pleas- 
ing. But to-morrow early will do. Spend the night 
here.” 

“To-night. Now,” I insisted. “I need action.” 

He gave me a sharp glance, then called his man 
and gave the order. While my saddle was being 
shifted he informed me: 

“Ericus Dale and John Ward paid us a call. Dale 
and His Excellency had a rare bout of words. The 
fellow Ward didn’t say much, but he agreed to 
everything Dale said.” 

“I know about the way Dale talked,” I gloomily 
said. “I talked with him before he came here. He 
thinks that Virginia is made up of fools, that only 
Pennsylvania knows how to handle the Indians.” 

I swung into the saddle and the colonel kindly 
said : 

“I hope this business of mine isn’t taking you 
away from something more pleasant.” 

“I thank you, Colonel, but I am quite free. All 
I ask is action and an early return to the frontier.” 


i3 2 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


I knew the colonel knew the truth. He knew I 
had paid my respects to the girl and had been dis- 
missed. He stretched out a hand in silence and gave 
me a hearty handshake; and I shook the reins and 
thundered up the road to Staunton. 


CHAPTER VI 


THE PACK-HORSE-MAN^ MEDICINE 

/CHARLES LEWIS was as popular as he was 
widely known. He had the gift of attracting 
men to him on short acquaintance and of holding 
them as life-long friends. His fame as an Indian- 
fighter was known throughout the South, his ad- 
ventures possessing those picturesque elements 
which strongly appeal to border-folk. During the 
Braddock and Pontiac Wars his service was prac- 
tically continuous. 

In his home-life he was a kindly, gentle man. I 
found him playing with his five small children. He 
greeted me warmly and displayed none of his broth- 
er’s austerity. During the greater part of two days 
which I was in his hospitable home I succeeded, I 
pride myself, in showing him the truth concerning 
the various reports sent over the line from Pennsyl- 
vania. 

I know that when I left him he was convinced the 
war must be fought to a decisive finish before any 
of our western valleys could be safe. On one point 
he was very positive: the Cherokees, he insisted, 
133 


134 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


would not join the Ohio tribes, despite the murder of 
Oconostota’s brother. Could the people of the 
Clinch and Holston have felt the same confidence, 
they would have spared themselves much nagging. 

I took my time in returning to Salem, for there 
was much to think over. The bulk of my medita- 
tions concerned Patsy Dale. I decided to see her 
once more before crossing the mountains. I had no 
hope of finding her changed, but I did not intend to 
leave a shadow of a doubt in my own mind. I 
would leave no room for the torturing thought that 
had I been less precipitate she would have been more 
kindly. 

Yet I had no foolish expectations; I knew Pa- 
tricia. This last interview was to be an orderly 
settlement of the whole affair, and assurance that 
self-accusation should not accompany me to the 
wilderness. Then with the war over there would 
be no overmountain ties to hold me back from the 
Kentucky country, or the Natchez lands. 

I reached Richfield just as Colonel Lewis was 
setting forth to settle some wrangling between two 
of his captains. It was the old contention over 
enlistments, each leader charging the other with 
stealing men. I stopped only long enough to get 
my horse and to induce the colonel to let me have 
twenty pounds of powder and ten pounds of lead 
for the settlers. The lead was sufficient for seven 
hundred rounds and, divided into one-fourth por- 


THE PACK-HORSE-MAN 135 

tions, the powder would give a consciousness of 
power of eighty riflemen. 

It was late afternoon when my fresh mount 
brought me to Salem, and without any hesitation — 
for I must move while my resolve was high — I gal- 
loped out to the Dale house. The low sun extended 
my shadow to a grotesque length as I flung myself 
from the saddle and with an attempt at a bold swag- 
ger advanced to find the maid. I am sure my bear- 
ing suggested confidence, but it was purely physical. 

Inwardly I was quaking and wondering how I 
should begin my explanation for this second call. 
I was a most arrant coward when I mounted the 
veranda. The carefully rehearsed calm of my 
leather face vanished and I made the discouraging 
discovery that my features were out of control. The 
door of the house was open. I rapped loudly and 
frowned. A shuffling step, which never could be 
Patricia’s, nor yet heavy enough for Dale, finally 
rewarded by efforts. A colored woman came to 
the door and ducked her portly form. 

I began asking for Patricia, but she recognized 
me as a recent caller and broke in : 

“De massa ’n’ de young missy done gwine ’way. 
Dat onery white man gone wif dem.” 

“Gone away? John Ward went with them?” I 
mumbled. “Which way did they ride, Aunty?” 

“Dat a-way.” And she pointed to the sun, now 
sliced in half by Walker’s Mountain. 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


136 

“You are sure they made for the mountains ?” 

“Dey gwine to slam right ag’in’ 'em, den ride 
ober dem,” she declared. 

So after all my warnings the Dales were fool- 
hardy enough to ride into danger. Ericus Dale 
would not only stake his own life but even his daugh- 
ter’s on his faith in red men. I recalled Cornstalk’s 
pretended friendship for the whites at Carr’s Creek 
and on Jackson’s River and the price the settlers 
paid for their trustfulness. 

“When did they ride?” 

“Two days ergo. Bright ’n’ early in de mornin’.” 

I ran to my horse and mounted. As I yanked his 
head about the servant called after me : 

“De missy have dem mogasums wif her.” 

The first stage of my journey was to Dunlap’s 
Creek, although there was no certainty that the 
Dales and Ward were taking that route. I had 
small doubt, however, but that Dale was bound for 
the home of his cousin on Howard’s Creek. Unless 
he knew of some secret trace over the mountains he 
would follow the open trail. 

He would be more likely to go boldly and openly, 
I reasoned, because of his belief there was nothing 
for him to fear. His daughter’s convenience would 
be better suited by the main traveled trails. As I 
hurried to the west I paused at every habitation and 
inquired for the travelers. Always the same reply; 
two men and a woman had been observed. 


THE PACK-HORSE-MAN 


137 


When I finally reached the Greenwood cabin at 
Dunlap’s Creek I learned I had gained a day because 
of Patricia’s need for rest. She was an odd bundle 
of contradictions. She felt superior to frontier 
women, and how they would have smiled at the 
thought of recuperating after the easy travel from 
Salem to the creek! Many of the women on the 
Greenbriar had walked the entire distance over the 
mountains so that the pack-animals might be used 
in carrying the jealously guarded and pitiably few 
household-goods. 

It was amazing to contemplate what a difference 
two or three hundred miles could make in one’s 
environment. Patricia Dale, soft and dainty, was 
used to the flattery of the town, and, I feared, the 
attention of many beaux. Her parents had known 
none of the comfortable places in life at her age; 
and yet she had responded to her environment, had 
been petted by it, and now she was a domestic kit- 
ten. I wondered if she would respond to her ances- 
try if placed among arduous experiences. I knew 
the kitten would, and therein I found hope for Patsy 
Dale. 

I had been greatly shocked when told the girl was 
being taken over the mountains. Now by some 
peculiar mental twist I was beginning to enjoy 
secretly the prospect of seeing her again and in sur- 
roundings which harmonized with long rifles and 
hunting-shirts. On the surface I persisted in my 


i3« 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


anger at Dale and vehemently wished her back at 
Salem. Yet my guilty anticipation endured, and 
as a sop to conscience I tried to make myself believe 
there was no danger. 

Howard’s Creek could not be conquered so long 
as the settlers kept close to the cabins and fort. I 
believed that or I should have urged a return of all 
the women to the east side of the mountains. If 
the enemy, in force, should lay a protracted siege* 
Howard’s Creek would be remembered among other 
bloody annals. 

But I knew there would be no prolonged attempt 
to massacre the settlement. Cornstalk was too wise 
a warrior to weaken his forces for a score of scalps 
when a general engagement was pending. Let him 
win that and he could take his time in blotting out 
every cabin west of the Alleghanies. So after all 
it was neither difficult nor illogical to convince my- 
self the girl would be safe as long as she kept close 
to the creek. 

Even Dale would not plan to take his daughter 
beyond the creek. If he attempted it there were 
men enough to prevent the mad act. Across this 
line of thought came the recollection of the Gris- 
dols’ fate. The girl would be safe at Howard’s 
Creek, but death lined the trace leading thereto. My 
reason assured me Black Hoof’s band had long 
since departed from the mountains. 

My fear that the girl was being led into an am- 


THE PACK-HORSE-MAN 


139 


bush threw me into a fine sweat; and I pushed on 
the faster. I reviewed all the circumstances which 
would preclude the possibility of an Indian attack 
on the three travelers. There could be no Indians 
between Dunlap’s and Howard’s. Black Hoof’s 
losses at the Grisdol cabin, the venomous hatred of 
young Cousin stalking them day and night and 
the appearance of Baby Kirst would surely hasten 
their retreat. 

But there would obtrude the terrible possibility of 
a few raiders hiding along the trace, determined to 
strengthen their medicine with more white scalps. 
But never once did I count in favor of the girl Dale’s 
boasted friendship with the Shawnees. Even my 
most visionary listing of assets could not include 
that. I made a night-camp half-way across the 
mountains and dined on cold provisions procured 
from the Greenwoods. 

The morning brought optimism. By this time 
the girl was safe in the Davis cabin. I finished 
my prepared food and resumed my journey. I had 
covered a mile when a mounted figure turning a 
twist in the trace ahead sent me to the ground. The 
two of us struck the ground at about the same mo- 
ment. Our rifles slid across the saddles as if we 
were puppets worked by the same string. Then a 
voice called out: 

“I won’t shoot if you won’t.” 

Of course he was white. 


140 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


“Jesse Hughes !” I exclaimed, vaulting into the 
saddle. “These are queer hunting-grounds for 
you.” Then in sudden terror, “Are the Indians 
back here in the mountains ?” 

“Devil take worse luck ! No,” he grumbled as he 
trotted to meet me. “I’m going out to Greenwood’s 
to see if I can’t git a few shoots of powder.” 

“Have you seen Ericus Dale, the trader?” I 
anxiously asked. 

“Yes, I seen the fool. He was making the creek 
when I come off. His gal was with him and John 
Ward. Come pretty nigh potting that Ward feller. 
He’s a white man, but I can’t git it out of my noodle 
that he ain’t a’ Injun.” 

“How did Dale’s girl stand the journey?” 

The query surprised him, and he looked puzzled. 

“Stand it?” he slowly repeated. “Why, she ain’t 
sick or hurt, is she?” 

I said something about her not being used to rid- 
ing long distances. 

“Long distances!” he snorted. “Wal, if a woman 
can’t foller a smooth trace on a good hoss for a 
day’s ride, she ain’t got no business west of the 
mountains. I can’t stick here swapping talk. I’ve 
got to push on and git that powder. Curse the luck !” 

“The Greenwoods have no powder to spare. He 
has less than half a pound.” 

“Black devils in a pipe! Howard’s Creek will 
have to go to making bows and arrers!” 


THE PACK-HORSE-MAN 


141 

“Eve brought twenty pounds of powder and ten 
of lead from Salem,” I added. "Howard’s Creek 
is welcome to it after I’ve outfitted myself.” 

"Hooray! That ends that cussed trip. Twenty 
pounds! Wal, I declare if there won’t be some rare 
killings! Now I’ll hustle right back along with 
you. I’ve felt all the time that some one would be 
gitting hair that belonged to me if I come off the 
creek. Ten pounds of lead! Seven hundred little 
pills ! That’ll let Runner, Hacker, Scott ’n’ me 
strike for the Ohio, where we can catch some of 
them red devils as they beat back home. They’ll 
be keerless and we oughter nail quite a few.” 

"Crabtree isn’t going with you?” 

"Ike ain’t got no stummick for a reg’lar stand-up 
fight. He’ll hang round the creek and kill when he 
catches a red along.” 

"He’ll get no powder from my stock to use around 
the creek,” I declared. 

Hughes eyed me moodily. 

"What odds where they’re killed so long as 
they’re rubbed out?” he harshly demanded. 

"Women and children are the odds,” I retorted. 
"Crabtree kills friendly Indians. Even young 
Cousin, who hates reds as much as any man alive, 
won’t make a kill in a settlement unless the Indians 
are attacking it.” 

"That’s the one weak spot in Cousin,” regretted 
Hughes. "He’s a good hater. But he’d have a 


142 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


bigger count for that little sister of his if he’d take 
them wherever he finds them. It’s all damn fool- 
ishness to pick and choose your spot for killing a 
red skunk. And this friendly Injun talk makes me 
sick! Never was a time but what half the Shaw- 
nees and other tribes was loafing ’round the settle- 
ments, pretending to be friends, while t’other half 
was using the tomahawk and scalping-knife. 

“That sort of medicine won’t do for me. No, 
siree! Injuns are a pest, just like wolves and 
painters, only worse. They must be wiped out. 
That’s my belief and I make it my business to wipe 
them out. Few men that’s got more’n me.” 

It’s a waste of time to talk with a bloody-minded 
man. Hughes’ brother was killed by the Indians. 
As for that, there was hardly a settler in Virginia 
who had not lost some dear friend or relative. 
When the history of the country is written, it will 
surprise the coming generations to read the many 
names having opposite them, “Killed by the In- 
dians.” 

I was sorry I had met Hughes. His company 
grated on me. It was impossible to think of Patsy 
Dale with the fellow’s cruel babble ringing in my 
ears. I remained silent and he garrulously re- 
counted some of his many exploits, and with gusto 
described how he had trapped various victims. It 
was his one ambition of life. He cared nothing for 
land. 


THE PACK-HORSE-MAN 


M3 


Offer him all of Colonel Washington’s thirty-odd 
thousand acres on the Ohio and Great Kanawha as 
a gift, and he would have none of them unless they 
contained red men to slaughter. He had laid down 
a red path and it was his destiny to follow it. I 
had no love for Shawnee or Mingo, but my mind 
held room for something besides schemes for blood- 
letting. 

And yet it was well for me that I had met Hughes 
the Indian-hater, and doubly well that I had brought 
powder and lead so that he had turned back with 
me. We were riding down the western slope and 
about clear of the mountains, I trying to think my 
own thoughts and he talking, talking, his words 
dripping blood, when ahead in the trace I spied 
something on the ground that caused me to exclaim 
aloud. 

It was a brightly beaded moccasin, very small, 
and strangely familiar even at a distance. Hughes 
saw it and stared at it through half-closed lids. I 
leaped from my horse and started forward to pick 
it up. 

“Don’t touch it;” yelled Hughes. “Come back! 
Come back!” 

I heard him and understood his words, and yet 
I continued advancing while I mechanically endeav- 
ored to guess his reason for stopping me. 

“Jump, you fool!” he yelled as I stretched out 
my hand to pick up the moccasin. And his horse 


144 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


was almost upon me and covering me with dirt as 
he pivoted and slid into the bushes, his hindquar- 
ters hitting me and hurling me over, half a dozen 
feet beyond the little moccasin. I landed on my 
head and shoulders with the crack of a rifle echoing 
in my dazed ears. 

Instinct sent me rolling out of the trace and into 
the bushes. By the time I gained my knees and 
had cleared the dirt from my eyes Hughes was work- 
ing rapidly up the right-hand slope. His horse stood 
at the edge of the bushes, rubbing noses with my 
animal. I kept under cover of the growth and 
halted abreast of the moccasin. 

There was a furrow within a few inches of its 
embroided toe. I broke a branch and pawed the 
moccasin toward me and picked it up and went 
back to the horses. Then I took time to examine 
my prize. It was one of the pair I had given to 
Patsy Dale. She must have carried it carelessly to 
drop it in the trace without discovering her loss. I 
slipped it into my hunting-shirt and sat down to 
wait for Hughes. It was fully an hour before he 
came back. 

“Couldn’t git a crack at him,” he growled, his 
face grim and sullen. “But you was a fool to be 
took in by such a clumsy trick as that.” 

“It’s an old trick,” I conceded, taking the moc- 
casin from my shirt. “If it had been any Indian 
finery I would have kept clear of it. But this hap- 


THE PACK-HORSE-MAN 145 

pens to belong to Ericus Dale’s girl. She dropped 
it coming down the slope.” 

He heard this in astonishment and scratched his 
head helplessly. 

“Then I must ’a’ been asleep, or in a hell of a 
hurry when I come to this slope,” he muttered. 
“And it ain’t just the right kind of a slope to go 
galloping over. I don’t understand it a bit. They 
was riding into the settlement when I come out. I 
called to Dale and asked if he’d seen any Injun signs. 
He told me he hadn’t seen any. Then that feller 
Ward come trotting out the woods, looking like a’ 
Injun, and I was bringing up my rifle to give him 
his needings when Dale let out a yelp and said he 
was a white man. Wal, it’ll tickle the gal to learn 
how near her moccasin come to killing you.” 

“The Indian knew it was there and knew we 
were coming, and used it for bait,” I mused. 

“A five-year-old child would know that,” was 
the scornful rejoinder. “But what no five-year-old 
on Howard’s Creek would ’a’ done was to go for to 
git it after I’d called a halt. You must ’a’ been 
foolish in your mind. The Injun took a spot where 
he could line his gun on the moccasin. The growth 
cut off any sight of the trace ’cept where the moc- 
casin lay. All he had to do was to line it and shoot 
when you stooped over it. The second he couldn’t 
see the moccasin he’d know some one’s body was 
between it and him. He heard me bawl out, but 


146 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


he didn’t git sight of you till you was over it, and 
by that time my old hoss give you a belt and made 
you keep on moving.” 

“He undershot, yet as I was bending close to it 
he would have bagged me,” I said. “I have to thank 
you for saving my life.” 

“Part of a day’s work,” he carelessly observed. 
“Wal, seeing as the skunk has skedaddled, we might 
as well push on rather smart and tell the fellers 
there’s a loose red round these parts.” 

When we entered the settlement we saw men and 
women gathered in front of the Davis cabin, frankly 
curious to see the newcomers and eager to volley 
them with questions. I joined the group and 
through a window beheld Patsy in animated conver- 
sation with what women could crowd inside. Mrs. 
Davis was very proud of her cousin’s daughter and 
was preening herself considerably. 

Patsy’s cheeks were flushed and her tongue was 
racing as only a woman’s can. As she talked I could 
see she was trying to get used to the table of split 
slabs and its four round legs set in auger-holes, the 
pewter tableware and the spoons and bowls fash- 
ioned from wood, and the gourds and hard-shell 
squash hollowed out for noggings. 

With a slant of half-veiled eyes she also was 
studying the women’s linsey petticoats and bare 
feet, for now that it was warm weather many dis- 
pensed with any foot-covering. In turn the women 


THE PACK-HORSE-MAN 


147 


were openly examining the texture and style of her 
town gown, and shrilly calling on one another to 
come and admire her soft leather boots. 

I did not see Dale, and Davis informed me he was 
inspecting the fort. As Ward was not in sight I 
assumed he, too, was at the fort. Making my way 
to the window, I caught Patsy’s eye and handed her 
her lost moccasin. 

She stared at the moccasin in bewilderment, but 
what with the newness of her experience and the 
voluble praise of the women and the open-eyed 
admiration of the men, she was finely excited. She 
forgot to ask where I found the moccasin or how I 
happened to be there. She was in the act of giving 
me a smile and a nod when Mrs. Davis tugged her 
to the right-about. 

Realizing it was useless to strive for the girl’s 
attention until the neighbors returned to their cab- 
ins, I walked to the fort, leading my horse. Hughes 
was there ahead of me and stood with a group of 
sullen-faced men who were being addressed by 
Ericus Dale. 

“I say there ain’t going to be any war,” he cried 
as I took a position behind him. “The Indians 
don’t want war. They want trade. Take a pack of 
goods on your horse and walk into a Shawnee vil- 
lage and see how quick they’ll quit the war-post to 
buy red paint and cloth. 

“Open a keg of New England rum among the 


148 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


Mingos and see how quick they’ll drop their axes 
and hunt for tin dippers. Take blankets and beads 
to the Wyandots and watch them hang up white 
wampum. Take ” 

“Oh, that’s all fool talk !” thundered Hughes 
crowding forward and staring angrily into the 
trader’s deep-set eyes. “You can’t lead a pack-hoss 
fifty miles from this creek without losing your hair, 
neighbor.” 

“I can! I will!” wrathfully replied Dale. “I’ve 
traded for years with the Indians. I never yet 
went to them with a gun in my hand. If ever I 
need protection, they’ll protect me. They are my 
friends. This war is all wrong. You can have it 
if you insist. But if you’d rather have trade, then 
you needn’t build any more forts west of the Alle- 
ghanies.” 

Hughes laughed hoarsely and called out to the 
silent settlers: 

“What do you fellers say to all this twaddle? 
Any of you believe it?” 

Uncle Dick, whom I had left whetting his knife 
on the stones of the Davis fireplace, gave a cackling 
laugh and answered: 

“Believe it? No! But it’s fun to hear him 
splutter.” 

The men smiled grimly. They had held back 
from affronting their neighbor’s cousin. They 
looked upon Dale much as they looked on Baby 


THE PACK-HORSE-MAN 


149 


Kirst when he came to the settlement and whim- 
pered because he could not find ripe berries to pick. 
They were deciding that Dale was mentally irre- 
sponsible; only his malady took a different twist 
than did Baby’s. He was an Indian-lover instead 
of hater. Dale’s dark face flushed purple with 
anger. By an effort he controlled himself and said : 

“All right. You men want a fight. I’m afraid 
you’ll have it. But I tell you that if Dunmore 
would call off that dog of a Connolly at Fort Pitt 
I could go among the Ohio Indians and make a 
peace which would last.” 

“How about the Injuns being willing for us to 
go down into the Kentucky country?” spoke up 
Moulton. 

“If you want peace with the Indian, you must let 
him keep a place to hunt and live in. He can’t live 
if you take away his hunting-grounds.” 

“Then let’s take ’em away so they’ll die out tarna- 
tion fast,” cried Elijah Runner. 

Drawing himself up and speaking with much 
dignity. Dale said: 

“I am sorry for any of you men who came out 
here to make homes if you will let a few Indian- 
killers, who never make homes, spoil your chances 
for getting ahead.” 

“We don’t go for to kill every Injun we see,” said 
Davis, heretofore silent. “I’m a fambly-man. I 
don’t want Injuns butchered here in the settlement 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


150 

like as Ike Crabtree done for Cherokee Billy. No 
sense in that.” 

“That’s what I say, too,” agreed another. And 
this endorsement of Davis’ view became quite gen- 
eral. Of course I had known right along that the 
settlers as a whole did not look with favor upon 
indiscriminate slaughter of the natives. Dale 
nodded his approval and said : 

“Well, that’s something. Only you don’t go far 
enough.” 

Hughes angrily took up the talk, declaring : 

“You cabin-men are mighty tickled to have us 
Injun-hating fellers come along when there’s any 
chance of trouble. I’ve noticed that right along.” 

“Course we are, Jesse,” agreed Davis. “But 
that don’t mean we’re mighty glad when some of 
you kill a friendly Injun in the settlement and, by 
doing so, bring the fighting to us.” 

“I ’low we’ve outstayed our welcome,” Hughes 
grimly continued. “You folks foller this man’s 
trail and it’ll lead you all to the stake. I’m moving 
on to-night.” 

“Don’t go away mad, Jesse,” piped up old Uncle 
Dick. “Talk don’t hurt nothin’. Stick along an’ 
git your fingers into the fightin’ what’s bound to 
come.” 

“I’m going away to kill Injuns,” was the calm 
reply. “That’s my business.” 

“Hacker, Scott ’n’ me will go along with you,” 


THE PACK-HORSE-MAN 


I5i 

said Runner. “Now that Howard’s Creek has got 
a trader to keep the Injuns off, we ain’t needed here 
no more.” 

“I can keep the Indians away,” cried Dale. 
“When I offer them my belts, they’ll be glad to 
receive them. You send them a few trade-belts in 
place of the bloody ax and they’ll be your friends, 
too.” 

“Bah!” roared Hughes, too disgusted to talk. 

“What does the white Injun say?” yelled one of 
the young men. 

He had barely put the query before John Ward 
stalked through the fort door and stood at Dale’s 
elbow. Speaking slowly and stressing his words 
in that jerky fashion that marks an Indian’s speech 
in English, he said : 

“The trader is right. I have been a prisoner 
among Indians for many years. I know their 
minds. Dale can go anywhere among Indians where 
he has been before, and no hand will be lifted 
against him.” 

“You’re a liar!” passionately cried Hughes, his 
hand creeping to his belt. 

Ward folded his arms across his deep chest and 
stared in silence at Hughes for nearly a minute; 
then slowly said : 

“No Indian ever called me that. It’s a man of 
my own race that uses the word to me.” 

“And a mighty cheap sample of his race,” 


152 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


boomed Dale, his heavy face convulsed with rage. 
“A cheap killer, who must strike from behind! 

Faugh! It’s creatures like you ” With an 

animal screech Hughes jumped for him. Before 
we could seize the infuriated man Ward’s arm was 
thrust across his chest and with the rigidity of a 
bar of iron stopped the assault. Before Hughes 
could pull knife or ax from his belt we hustled him 
into the background. His three friends scowled 
ferociously but offered no interference. It was 
obvious that the settlers as a body would not toler- 
ate any attack on Dale. 

Inarticulate with rage, Hughes beckoned for 
Hacker, Scott and Runner to follow him. A few 
rods away he halted and called out : 

“Dale, I’ll live to hear how your red friends have 
danced your scalp. Then I’ll go out and shoot some 
of them. That white Injun beside you will be one 
of the first to stick burning splinters into your 
carcass. He’s lived with redskins too long to for- 
get his red tricks. Come on, fellers.” 

This sorry disturbance depressed the spirits of 
the settlers. War was on, and there was none of 
the Howard’s Creek men who believed that any 
change in their attitude could prevent the Ohio In- 
dians from slaying at every opportunity. No mat- 
ter how much they might decry the acts of Hughes 
and his mates in time of peace, there was no deny- 
ing the fighting-value of the quartet when it came 
to war. 


THE PACK-HORSE-MAN 


153 


No word was spoken until the last of the four 
killers had filed away to secure their horses and be 
gone. Then Davis said: 

“Time to eat, Ericus. Let’s go back and see how 
the women-folks is gettin’ along.” 

“Keep that white scum from this creek until I 
can carry a bag of talk to Cornstalk and Logan and 
you won’t need any armed bullies to protect you,” 
said Dale. 

“We ain’t askin’ of ’em to look after us, nor you 
with your white belts, neither,” shrilly proclaimed 
Uncle Dick. 

Some of the younger men laughed. 

Dale reddened, but turned to walk with his cousin 
without making any answer. He all but bumped 
into me. 

“Why, Morris!” he greeted, staring at me in 
surprise. “You bob up everywhere. Will you go 
with me to the Scioto villages ?” 

“Go as what?” I cautiously asked. The men 
gathered closer about us. 

“Go as a trader, carrying white wampum. Go 
to make peace with the Shawnees,” slowly replied 
Dale, his eyes burning with the fire of fanaticism. 

“Not hankering for slow fires, nor to have squaws 
heap coals on my head, I must refuse,” I retorted. 
“But I’ll go with you or any man, as a scout.” 

“In your blood, too,” he jeered. “I didn’t sup- 
pose you’d been out here long enough to lose your 
head.” 


154 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


“I’d certainly lose it if the Shawnees got me,” I 
good-naturedly retorted. My poor jest brought a 
rumble of laughter from the men and added to 
Dale's resentment, which I greatly regretted. 

John Ward glided to my side and said : 

“You talk like a child. I have been long among 
the Indians. They did not take my head." 

I didn't like the fellow. There was something 
of the snake in his way of stealthily approaching. 
I could not get it out of my head that he must 
be half-red. Had he been all Indian, I might have 
found something in him to fancy; for there were 
red men whom I had liked and had respected im- 
mensely. But Ward impressed me as being neither 
white nor red. He stirred my bile. Without think- 
ing much, I shot back at him : 

“Perhaps they did something worse to you than 
to take your head. Are you sure they didn’t take 
your heart?" 

He turned on his heel and stalked away. Dale 
snarled : 

“You're worse than Hughes and those other fools. 
You even hate a poor white man who has been held 
prisoner by the Indians. He comes back to his 
people and you welcome him by telling him he’s a 
renegade. Shame on you!" 

“No call for that sort of talk to Ward at all!" 
denounced Davis. 


THE PACK-HORSE-MAN 155 

“What call had Ward to say he was a fool?” 
loudly demanded one of the young men. 

“I shouldn’t have said that,” I admitted, now 
much ashamed of my hot-headedness. “I’ll say as 
much to Ward when I see him next. If he’d look 
and act more like a white man then I’d keep remem- 
bering that he is white. But I shouldn’t have said 
that.” 

“Morris, that’s much better,” said Dale. “I’ll tell 
him what you said and you needn’t eat your words 
a second time in public. I admire you for con- 
quering yourself and saying it.” 

Uncle Dick did not relish my retraction, and his 
near-sighted eyes glared at me in disgust. 

“Too much talkin’. Scouts oughter be out. Our 
friends, th’ killers, have quit us.” 

Glad to be alone, I volunteered : 

“I’ll scout half the circle, striking west, then 
south, returning on the east side.” 

Moulton, a quiet, soft-spoken fellow, but a very 
demon in a fight, picked up his rifle and waved his 
hand to his wife and little girl and trotted in the 
opposite direction, calling back over his shoulder: 

“I’ll go east, north and half-down the west side.” 

I finished on the north leg at the point where 
Moulton had commenced his scout. I made no dis- 
coveries while out. I walked to the fort and was 
glad to see that Moulton had but recently come in. 
I returned to the Davis cabin and passed behind 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


156 

it. So far as I could observe no sentinels had been 
posted on the east side of the clearing. In front of 
the cabin burned a big fire and there was a con- 
fusion of voices. 

I gained a position at the end of the cabin, and 
from the shadows viewed the scene. It was old 
to me, but new to Patsy, and she was deeply inter- 
ested. The young men had erected a war-post, and 
had painted the upper half red. Now they were 
dancing and cavorting around the post like so many 
red heathens, bowing their heads nearly to the; 
ground and then throwing them far back. They 
were stripped to the waist and had painted their 
faces, and as they danced they stuck their axes into 
the post and whooped and howled according to the 
Indian ceremony of declaring war. 

“I don’t like it !” I heard Dale protest. 

“But the boys only wanted Patsy to see how the 
Injuns git ready for war,” defended Mrs. Davis. 
“An’, lor’ ! Ain’t she all took up by it !” 

“But it’s the way the border men declared war 
after the murder at Yellow Creek,” declared Dale. 
“They stripped and painted and struck the post and 
danced around it.” 

“They’ll be through mighty soon now, Ericus,” 
soothed Davis, who was uneasy between his fears 
of displeasing his wife’s cousin and giving offense 
to the young men. “They meant well.” 


THE PACK-HORSE-MAN 157 

“All such actions mean ill for the settlers/* 
growled Dale. “They’d best finish at once/’ 

Davis did not have to incur his neighbors’ ill-will 
by asking the dancers to cease their ceremony, as 
Dale’s speech was closely followed by a volley from 
the west side of the clearing. A dancer went down, 
coughing and clawing at his throat, while yelps of 
surprise and pain told me others had been wounded. 
I raised my rifle and fired toward the flashes. 

With the promptness of seasoned veterans the 
young men kicked the fire to pieces and grabbed up 
their rifles and advanced toward the hidden foe, 
their movements being barely perceptible even while 
within reach of the light streaming from the cabins. 

It was not until I had fired and was reloading 
that I was conscious of Patsy’s ear-splitting shrieks. 
I heard her father fiercely command her to be still, 
then command Davis to recall the young men now 
lost in the darkness. A stentorian voice began 
shouting : 

“All women to the fort! Put out all lights!” 

One by one the candles were extinguished. Patsy 
was silent, and across the clearing came the low 
voices of the women, driving their children before 
them and urging them to hurry. Dark forms were 
discernible close at hand and were those settlers 
apportioned to defend the fort. 

Davis was commanding his wife to take Patsy 
to the fort while there was yet time, and she was 


158 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


refusing. The savages must have heard the men 
and women leaving the outlying cabins, for they 
started to rush from the woods only to fall back 
before a brisk volley from the young men now 
scouting well to the front. 

I walked to the cabin door just as the war-whoop 
of the Shawnees announced an attack in force. I 
was standing by Patsy’s side, but she did not see me. 
She had both hands clapped over her ears, her lips 
parted but uttering no sound. Now there came a 
rush of feet and the young men fell back, some mak- 
ing into the fort, others, as previously assigned, en- 
tering the cabins close to the fort. Three came to 
the Davis cabin, and I entered with them, leading 
Patsy. Some one, I think it was Davis, dragged 
Dale inside. 

The trader seemed to be paralyzed, for he had 
remained voiceless during the stirring events. And 
it had all been a matter of a few minutes. I 
jumped through the doorway just as a young man 
began closing it. The Shawnees were yelling like 
demons and approaching to close range very cau- 
tiously, feeling out each rod of the ground. 

The sally of the young men had taught them they 
could not have all things their own way. I scouted 
toward the fort to make sure all the women and 
children had made cover, but before I could reach 
the log walls I heard Dale’s voice shouting for at- 
tention. I dropped behind a stump, and as the sav- 


THE PACK-HORSE-MAN 159 

ages ceased their howling I heard him hoarsely 
crying : 

“It is the Pack-Horse-Man speaking. Do the 
Shawnees fire guns at the Pack-Horse-Man? My 
friends live here. Do the Shawnees hurt the friends 
of the Pack-Horse-Man ? I give you a belt to wash 
the red paint from your faces. I give you a belt to 
make the road smooth between the Greenbriar and 
the Scioto. By this belt the nettles and rocks shall 
be removed from the road. I will cover the bones of 
your dead, if any fell to-night, with many presents/’ 

He was either very brave or crazy. For now he 
left the cabin and began walking toward the hidden 
Shawnees, his confident voice repeating the fact he 
was the red man’s friend, that he brought white 
belts, that the red and white men should eat from 
one dish, and that a hole should be dug to the middle 
of the earth and the war-ax buried there and a 
mighty river turned from its ancient bed to flow 
over the spot so that the ax could never be found. 

His amazing boldness brought the hush of death 
over cabins and forts. My horse, secured in the 
small stockaded paddock near the fort, whinnied for 
me to come to him, and his call in that tense stillness 
set my nerves to jumping madly. Dale was now 
close to the warriors. Every minute I expected to 
see a streak of fire, or hear the crunch of an ax. 
Trailing my rifle and bent double, I stole after him. 
From the forest a deep voice shouted: 


160 r A VIRGINIA SCOUT 

“The belts of the Pack-Horse-Man are good belts. 
Black Hoofs warriors do not harm the friends of 
the Pack-Horse-Man. Sleep with your cabin doors 
open to-night and you shall hear nothing but the call 
of the night birds and the voice of the little owl 
talking with the dead.” 

I now discovered that the Shawnees had silently 
retreated to the woods at the beginning of Dale’s 
advance. The declaration of peace as given by the 
Indian — and I was convinced it was the famous 
Black Hoof talking — was in the Shawnee tongue. 
Dale faced to the cabins and fort and triumphantly 
interpreted it. From deep in the forest came a pul- 
sating cry, the farewell of the marauders, as they 
swiftly fell back toward New River. I was suspi- 
cious of some Indian trick and yelled a warning for 
the men to keep in the cabins. 

Dale became very angry, and unbraided me : 

“It's the like of you that spoils the Indian’s heart. 
You men have heard what the Black Hoof says. 
You men and women of Howard’s Creek are foolish 
to believe this young fool’s words. The Shawnees 
have gone. You heard their travel-cry. They have 
left none behind to harm by treachery. I told you 
I could keep the Indians from attacking this settle- 
ment. Could your friends, the killers, have sent 
them away so quickly? I think not. Open your 
doors. Light your candles. Make merry if you 
will. There is nothing in the forest to harm you.” 


THE PACK-HORSE-MAN 161 

“Keep inside till I and some of the young men 
have scouted the woods. Three men from the fort 
will be enough,” I loudly shouted. 

Dale was furious, but that was nothing when the 
women and children had to be remembered. Soon 
a soft pattering of moccasins, and three youths 
stood before me. Choosing one, I set off in the 
direction the Indians apparently had taken. The 
other two were to separate, one scouting south and 
the other north, to discover any attempt at a sur- 
prise attack by swinging back to the creek in a half- 
circle. 

My companion and I, although hampered by the 
darkness, penetrated some miles toward New River. 
In returning, we separated, one swinging south and 
the other north. The first morning light was burn- 
ing the mists from the creek when I reentered the 
clearing. My companion came in an hour later. 
The other two had returned much earlier, having 
had a much shorter course to cover. We all made 
the same report; no signs of Indians except those 
left by them in their retreat. 

I sat outside the Davis cabin and Patsy brought 
me some food. She was very proud of her father 
and carried her small figure right grandly. Her 
attitude toward the women was that of a protector; 
and they, dear souls, so thankful to be alive, so eager 
to accept the new faith, fairly worshiped the girl. 

The one exception was the Widow McCabe. 


1 62 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


She paid homage to no one. And while she said 
nothing to the chorus of admiring exclamations 
directed at the trader there was the same cold glint 
in the slate-gray eyes, and she walked about with her 
skirts tucked up and an ax in her hand. 

I made no effort to talk with Patsy. Her frame 
of mind was too exalted for speech with a skeptical 
worm. She smiled kindly on me, much as a god- 
dess designs to sweeten the life of a mortal with a 
glance. She smiled in gentle rebuke as she noted 
my torn and stained garments and the moccasins 
so sadly in need of patching. 

“You silly boy! It wasn’t necessary. When will 
you learn, Morris?” It was not intended that I 
should answer this, for she turned away graciously 
to receive the blessings of the women. Thus, vica- 
riously, was Ericus Dale recognized as a great man. 
And the trader walked among the morning clouds. 
For some hours the savor of his triumph stifled 
speech, and he wandered about while the women paid 
their tribute through his daughter. 

Nor were the men lacking in appreciation. The 
younger generation remained silent, secretly wish- 
ing their bravery and marksmanship had scattered 
the foe, yet unable to deny that Dale’s medicine had 
been very powerful. Those with families stared 
upon him as they might gaze on one who had looked 
on David. 

They congregated around the Davis cabin after 


THE PACIC-HORSE-MAN 163 

the morning meal and forgot there was much work 
to be done. They were eager to renew their fires 
of this new faith by listening to him. And after his 
exaltation had softened enough to permit of speech 
the trader once more harangued them on his influ- 
ence over the natives. He was constantly in motion, 
his swinging arms keeping a path clear as he strode 
through the group and back again and addressed 
the mountains and horizon. He was too full of 
the sweets of a peaceful victory to confine his utter- 
ance to any individual, and he spoke to the whole 
frontier. 

He concluded a long and eloquent speech by say- 
ing: 

“So after all, as you settlers have learned, the 
Ohio tribes, yes, and all tribes, will always hark to 
the one word — trade. They are now dependent 
upon the white man for traps and guns, even their 
women’s clothing. Trade with them and they will 
remain your friends, for your goods they must have. 

“You can plant your war-posts three feet apart 
along the whole length of Virginia, and you’ll 
always have work for your rifles and axes until the 
last Indian-hunter is killed. I admit they can be 
exterminated, but you’ll pay an awful price in doing 
it. But give them a chance to live, carry trade-belts 
to them, and you shall have peace.” 

Even Uncle Dick, the aged one, had nothing to 
say. But it was Patsy I was watching while Dale 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


164 

talked. She never took her eyes from him, and her 
gaze was idolatrous in its love. She believed in his 
powers implicitly; and to bask in the reflection of 
his greatness was the sweetest triumph she had ever 
experienced. Throughout that day the scouts were 
busy in the forest, ranging very far on the track of 
Black Hoof’s band. When they began dropping in 
after sundown all their reports were alike. 

There were no Indian-signs besides those left by 
the departing Shawnee band. This band, said the 
scouts, was very large and quite sufficient to cause 
the settlement much trouble and inevitable losses. 
There was no mistaking the story told by the trail. 
The Indians had marched rapidly, swinging north. 

Every emotion, unless it be that of love, must 
have its ebb; and by nightfall the settlers were 
returning to their old caution. Dale did not relish 
this outcropping of old habits. Throwing open the 
door of the Davis cabin after Davis had closed and 
barred it, he cried : “Let us have air. There is no 
danger. You’re like silly children afraid of the 
dark. Your scouts have told you there are no In- 
dians near. Yet the minute the sun sets you imagine 
the woods are full of them. I will go out alone and 
unarmed and I will shout my name. If any Shaw- 
nee who was not in Black Hoof’s band hears my 
voice he will come to me. After he learns I have 
friends here on Howard’s Creek, he will go away. 
Give me time to act before that scoundrel Connolly 


THE PACK-HORSE-MAN 165 

can stir up more trouble and I’ll make a lasting 
peace between the Greenbriar, the Clinch and the 
Holston and the Ohio tribes; and I’ll make Dun- 
more look like a fool.” 

His overpowering personality, his massive way 
of asserting things made a deep impression on the 
simple folks. They asked only for a chance to 
plant and reap. When he went out alone that night 
he brought them deep under his spell. As he 
plunged into the forest and stumbled about he took 
pains to advertise his presence. Unknown to the 
settlers, I trailed him. I was within ten feet of 
him when he halted and shouted his name, and in 
their language called on the Shawnees to come to 
him. 

For half an hour he wandered about, proclaiming 
he was the Pack-Horse-Man, the ancient friend of 
the Shawnees and Mingos. Let him be a fool 
according to Jesse Hughes’ notion, yet he was a 
very brave man. He had the courage to attempt 
proof of his belief in the honesty of the Shawnees. 

I trailed him back to the cabin door. I saw the 
girl’s radiant face as she proudly threw her arms 
about his neck. I saw the great pride in his own 
face as he stood in the middle of the floor and 
harshly demanded : 

“Now, who will you believe; Dale, the trader, or 
Hughes, the killer?” 

It was all mighty dramatic, and it was not sur- 


1 66 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


prising that it should affect the settlers keenly. It 
shook my skepticism a bit, but only for the moment 
If I could not feel a full confidence in John Ward* 
bom white, how could I place a deep and abiding 
trust in those who were born red? Had not Corn- 
stalk and other chiefs, the best of their breed, sworn 
friendship to the whites in Virginia in 1759 and 
during Pontiac's War? Had they not feasted with 
old friends, and then, catching them off their guard, 
chopped them down? Black Hoof had drawn off 
his raiders; so far, so good. But I looked to my 
flints none the less carefully that night and made the 
rounds to see that reliable men were on guard. The 
night passed with nothing to disturb the settlement’s 
rest 


CHAPTER VII 


LOST SISTER 

P ATSY stood in the doorway of the Davis cabin 
when I approached to pay my respects. She 
was wearing a linsey petticoat and a short gown for 
an overskirt. Her mass of wonderful hair was 
partly confined by a calico cap, and on her feet 
were my gift moccasins. She believed she was con- 
forming to the frontier standard of dress, but she 
was as much out of place as a butterfly at a bear- 
baiting. Before I could speak she was advancing 
toward me, her hands on her hips, her head tilted 
back, and demanding: 

“What do you say now about the influence of 
trade and the trader ?” 

She did not ask that she might learn my opinion ; 
she firmly believed there was but one thing I could 
say. She was in an exultant mood and happy to 
parade her triumph. Of course she was proud of 
her father and was viewing him as the deliverer of 
the settlement. Without waiting for me to answer 
she excitedly continued : 

“And your long rifle! And the rifles of all these 
167 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


1 68 

other men! What good would they have done? 
They spoke night before last, and the Indians kept 
up their attack. Then my father spoke and the In- 
dians have gone! John Ward, who was out scout- 
ing when the Indians attacked, says they greatly 
outnumbered us and were led by Black Hoof, one 
of their greatest chiefs. He says they would have 
captured or killed us if not for my father. Now, 
Mr. Rifleman, what do you think about the influ- 
ence of an honest trader ?” 

I would not have shaken her pride in her father 
even had that accomplishment been possible. To 
convince her — which was not possible — that her 
father’s success was no success at all, that Black 
Hoofs behavior was simply an Indian trick to lull 
us into a foolish sense of security, would mean to 
alienate even her friendship, let alone killing all 
chance of her ever reciprocating my love. 

While not deeply experienced with women, my 
instinct early taught me that my sex is most unwise 
in proving to a woman that she is wrong. She will 
hold such procedure to be the man’s greatest fault. 
It is far better to let her discover her own errors, 
and even then pretend you still cling to her first 
reasoning, thereby permitting her to convince you 
that she was wrong. 

On the other hand there was, I sensed, a peril in 
the situation, a peril to Howard’s Creek, that made 
my seeming acquiescence in her opinion very dis- 


LOST SISTER 


169 


tasteful to me. I had no proof of my suspicions 
except my knowledge of Indian nature and my fa- 
miliarity with frontier history. A red man can be 
capable of great and lasting friendships. But to 
judge him, when he is at war, by the standards of 
the white race is worse than foolish. 

Cornstalk, according to his blood, was a great 
man. Under certain conditions I would trust him 
with my life as implicitly as I would trust any 
white man. Under certain conditions I would 
repose this same trust in him although he was at 
war with my race. But when placed among the 
combatants opposing him, I knew there was no sub- 
terfuge even that great warrior would not use to 
attain success. 

So I said nothing of my doubts, nothing of my 
vague suspicions concerning John Ward. I felt a 
strong antipathy toward the fellow, and I realized 
this dislike might prejudice me to a degree not war- 
ranted by the facts. To put it mildly, his status 
puzzled me. If he were an escaped prisoner then he 
had committed one of the gravest sins in the red 
man’s entire category. 

To be taken into the tribe, to be adopted after his 
white blood had been washed out by solemn cere- 
mony, and then to run away, meant the stake and 
horrible preliminary tortures should he be recap- 
tured. As a prize such a runaway would be more 
eagerly sought than any settler. And yet the fel- 


170 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


low was back on the fringe of imminent danger and 
ranging the woods unconcernedly. His captivity 
must have taught him that every war-party would 
be instructed to bring him in alive if possible. 

“What’s the matter with you, Basdel ?” demanded 
the girl sharply as she turned and walked by my 
side toward the Davis cabin. “You act queer. Do 
you begrudge giving my father his due? Aren’t 
you thankful he was here to stop the attack?” 

“If he were here alone, yes. But I am terribly 
worried because you are here, Patsy.” 

“But that’s doubting my father’s influence!” she 
rebuked, her eyes lighting war-signals. 

“When one has loved, one stops reasoning,” I 
quickly defended. “I can not bear to see even a 
shadow of a chance of harm come to you.” 

“That was said very pretty,” she smiled, her gaze 
all softness. 

Then with calm pride she unfastened several 
strings of white wampum from around her slender 
waist and holding them up simply said : 

“My father’s belts.” 

Among the strings was a strip some seven or 
eight rows in width and two hundred beads long. 
It was pictographic and showed a man leading a 
pack-horse along a white road to a wigwam. The 
figures, like the road, were worked in white beads, 
the background being dark for contrast. 

Refastening them about her waist, she said : 


LOST SISTER 


171 

“There is no danger for me here so long as I 
wear my father’s belts. There are none of the Ohio 
Indians who would refuse to accept them and respect 
them. When they see the Pack-Horse-Man walking 
along the white road to their villages they will 
lift that belt up very high.” 

“When one sees you, there should be no need of 
belts,” I ventured. 

She smiled graciously and lightly patted my 
fringed sleeve, and ignoring my fervid declaration, 
she gently reminded : 

“Even if I had no belts I am no better than any 
of the other women on the creek. Don’t think for 
a moment I would hide behind my father’s trade 
wampum. The belts must protect all of us, or none 
of us. But there is no more danger for me than 
there is for them even if I threw the belts away. 
Not so much ; because I am Ericus Dale’s daughter. 
Basdel, it makes me unhappy to fear that when we 
leave here the danger may return to these people. 
I carry my safety with me. I wish I could leave 
it for them. I wish a general and lasting peace 
could be made.” 

“God knows I wish the same,” I cried. “As for 
being no better than these other women, I agree to 
that.” And she became suddenly thoughtful. “In 
judging from a Howard’s Creek standpoint you are 
not so good in many ways. Rather, I should say, 
not so valuable.” 


172 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


‘‘You measure a woman’s value as you do your 
guns and horses,” she murmured. 

Her calmness was rather ominous, and I feared 
I had bungled. Yet my meaning should have been 
transparent even to a child. To make sure she had 
not misconstrued me I explained : 

“You know what I mean, no matter how I appear 
to measure you. In making a new country a woman 
on the edge of things must have certain qualities 
that the town woman does not possess, does not 
need to possess. It’s because of these qualities that 
the new country becomes possible as a place to live 
in; then the town woman develops. Two hundred 
miles east are conditions that resulted from the 
rugged qualities of the first women on the first 
frontier. 

“Those first women helped to make it safe for 
their children’s children. Now it’s behind the fron- 
tier and women of your kind live there. In other 
words” — I was growing a trifle desperate, for her 
gaze, while persistent, was rather blank — “you don’t 
fit in out here. I doubt if you know how to run 
bullets or load a gun or throw an ax. I’m sure 
you’d find it very disagreeable to go barefooted. It 
isn’t your place. Your values shine when you are 
back in town. That’s why I’m sorry you’re here.” 

“I haven’t shot a rifle, but I could learn,” she 
quietly remarked. 

“I believe that,” I heartily agreed. “But could 


LOST SISTER 


173 


you take an ax and stand between a drove of chil- 
dren and what you believed to be a band of Indians 
about to break from cover and begin their work of 
killing? I saw the Widow McCabe do that. I saw 
the little Moulton woman, armed with an ax, run to 
meet the attack.” 

"It’s hardly sensible to ask if I could have done 
this or that. Who knows what I could have done? 
I shall never have to deal with what is past. And 
there was a time, I suppose, when all these women 
were new to the frontier. At least I should be al- 
lowed time to learn certain things before you apply 
your measuring-rod, sir!” 

“That's right,” I admitted. “I was rather unjust, 
but the fact remains that just now you are out of 
place and not used to this life and its dangers.” 

“I feel very cross at you. You pass over my 
father's great work for the settlement with scarcely 
a word. You complain because I am here and look 
different from Mrs. Davis. I can't help my looks.” 

“You are adorable. Already see the havoc 
you've wrought among the unmarried men. Ob- 
serve how many times each finds an errand that 
takes him by this cabin door. How slow they are to 
scout the woods and seek signs. No; you can’t 
help your looks, and it results there are few men 
who can resist loving you. There’s not a youngster 
in this settlement who’s not up to his neck in love 
with you already. And there’s not one of them who 


174 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


does not realize that you would be the poorest mate 
he could pick so long as he must live on the border. ,, 

“I’m glad to hear just what you believe about 
me/’ she muttered. “But you’re bewildering. It 
seems I’m a rare prize for any man and a most 
uncomfortable burden.” 

“Oh, dash it all, Patsy! You understand that 
what I’ve said applies to Howard’s Creek. If we 
were standing two hundred miles due east I should 
say directly the opposite.” 

Of course she understood my true meaning, and 
of course in her heart she agreed with it. She was 
town-bred and therefore was intended for the town. 
Yet so strangely stubborn and eccentric is a woman’s 
reasoning that she can feel resentment toward a 
man because he has brains enough to comprehend 
the same simple truth that she comprehends. 

Had there been no danger from the Indians I 
could have scored a bull’s-eye with her by baldly 
declaring her to be the most valuable asset the fron- 
tier ever had received ; and she would have dimpled 
and smiled and but faintly demurred, knowing I 
was a rock-ribbed liar for asserting it, and yet liking 
me the more for the ridiculous exaggeration. That is 
one reason why it is more sensible and much more 
satisfactory to quarrel with a man than a woman. 

With the tenacity which her sex displays when 
believing a male is trying to avoid some issue, she 
coldly reminded: 


LOST SISTER 175 

“Talk, talk, but not a word yet as to what my 
father did two nights ago.” 

“It was one of the most splendid exhibitions of 
faith and moral courage I ever witnessed.” 

Her gaze grew kindly again and she halted and 
stared up into my eyes, flushed with -pleasure, and 
waited to hear more encomiums. 

“I never before saw one man rush out and con- 
front a war-party. Then his going out alone last 
night and prowling about through the dark forest! 
That was magnificent. Your father is one of the 
bravest men I ever saw.” 

She rubbed a pink finger against her nose and 
tilted her head and weighed my words thoughtfully. 
Obviously I had omitted something; for with a lit- 
tle frown worrying her fair forehead she began : 

“But — but there’s something else you haven’t 
said. What about his influence over the Indians? 
You thought him foolish to take me over the moun- 
tains. You now admit you were foolish to think 
that?” 

She was waiting for me to complete my confes- 
sional. If the element of danger had been absent 
how gladly I would have lied to her! How quickly 
I would have won her approval by proclaiming my- 
self the greatest dolt in Virginia and her father the 
wisest man in the world! But to accede to every- 
thing she said and believed would be an endorse- 
ment of her presence on the creek. I had had no 


176 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


idea of ousting myself from her good graces when 
I went to find her that morning. Now the test had 
come, and her welfare was involved; to be true to 
her as well as to myself I was forced to say : 

“I still think it was most dangerous for you to 
come here. I believe your father acted very un- 
wisely, no matter how much be believes in his influ- 
ence over the Indians. And I would thank God if 
you were back in Williamsburg.” 

Her hands dropped to her side. The smiling 
eyes grew hard. 

“Go on !” she curtly commanded. 

“Tve damned myself in your opinion already. 
Isn’t that enough? Don’t make me pay double for 
being honest.” 

“Honest?” she jeered. “You’ve deliberately 
dodged my question. I asked you what you thought 
of my father’s power with the Indians. You rant 
about his wickedness in bringing me here. For the 
last time I ask you to answer my question and finish 
your list of my father’s faults.” 

As if to make more steep the precipice down which 
from her esteem I was about to plunge there came 
the voice of her father, loudly addressing the set- 
tlers. 

“You people ought to wake up,” he was saying. 
“Was it your rifles, or was it trade that stopped an 
attack on these cabins night before last? When 
will you learn that you can not stop Indian wars 


LOST SISTER 


177 


until you've killed every Indian this side the moun- 
tains? Has there ever been a time when you or 
your fathers could stop their raids with rifles? 
Well, you’ve seen one raid stopped by the influence 
of trade." 

As he paused for breath the girl quietly said : 

“Now, answer me." 

And I blurted out: 

“I don't have any idea that Black Hoof and his 
warriors will hesitate a second in sacking How- 
ard's Creek because of anything your father has 
said or could say. I honestly believe the Shawnees 
are playing a game, that they are hoping the settlers 
are silly enough to think themselves safe. I am con- 
vinced that once Black Hoof believes the settlers are 
in that frame of mind he will return and strike just 
as venomously as the Shawnees struck in the old 
French War and in Pontiac's War, after feasting 
with the whites and making them believe the red 
man was their friend." 

She straightened and drew a deep breath, and in 
a low voice said : 

“At last you've answered me. Now go!" 

I withdrew from the cabin and from the group 
of men. Dale's heavy voice was doubly hateful in 
my ears. The settlement was a small place. Patsy 
had dismissed me, and there was scarcely room for 
me without my presence giving her annoyance. I 
went to the cabin where I had left my few belong- 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


178 

ings and filled my powder-horn and shot-pouch. 
I renewed my stock of flints and added to my roll 
of buckskins, not forgetting a fresh supply of 
“whangs” for sewing my moccasins. While thus 
engaged Uncle Dick came in and began sharpening 
his knife at the fireplace. 

“Why do that?” I morosely asked. “You are 
safe from Indian attacks now the trader has told the 
Shawnees you are under his protection.” 

He leered at me cunningly and ran his thumb 
along the edge of the knife and muttered : 

“If some o’ th’ varmints will only git within 
strikin’-distance ! They sure ran away night before 
last, but how far did they go? Dale seems to have 
a pert amount o' authority over ’em ; but how long’s 
he goin’ to stay here? He can’t go trapezin’ up ’n’ 
down these valleys and keep men ’n’ women from 
bein’ killed by jest hangin’ some white wampum on 
em. 

“What do the men think?” 

“Them that has famblies are hopin’ th’ critters 
won’t come back. Younger men want to git a crack 
at ’em. Two nights ago th’ younkers thought Dale 
was mighty strong medicine. A night or two of 
sleep leaves ’em ’lowin’ th’ creek may be safe s’long 
as he sticks here. Some t’others spit it right out 
that Black Hoof is playin’ one o’ his Injun games. 
If that pert young petticoat wa’n’t here mebbe we 
could git some o’ th’ young men out into th’ woods 
for to do some real scoutin’. 


LOST SISTER 


179 


“If my eyes was right I’d go. As it is, th' young 
folks keep runnin' a circle round th' settlement, 
lickety-larrup, an’ their minds is on th' gal, an’ they 
wouldn't see a buf lo if one crossed their path. Then 
they hustle back an' say as how they ain't seen 
nothin'. I 'low some o' th’ older men will have to 
scout." 

“I'm going out. I’ll find the Indians' trail and 
follow it," I told him. 

“That'll be neighborly of you. If they chase you 
back an’ git within stickin'-distance I’ll soon have 
their in'ards out to dry." 

I decided to leave my horse, as the travel would 
take me through rough places. Shouldering my 
rifle, I struck for the western side of the clearing. 
Dale had disappeared, gone into the Davis cabin, I 
assumed, as John Ward was lying on the ground 
near the door. I hadn't seen much of Ward for 
two days. Davis and Moulton were drawing 
leather through a tan trough, and I turned aside to 
speak with them. They noticed I was fitted out for 
a scout and their faces lighted a bit. 

“Ward's been out ag’in and says the reds went 
north toward Tygart's Valley. He follered 'em 
quite some considerable. If you can find any new 
signs an' can fetch us word " 

“That's what I'm going out for, Davis. How do 
you feel about the doings of night before last ?" 

He scratched his chin and after a bit of hesitation 
answered : 


i8o 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


“Wife’s cousin is a mighty smart man. Powerful 
smart. I ’low he knows a heap ’bout Injuns. Been 
with ’em so much. But we’re sorter uneasy. More 
so to-day than we was yesterday. This waiting to 
see what’ll happen is most as bad, if not worse, 
than to have a fight an’ have it over with. Once a 
parcel of Injuns strikes, it either cleans us out or is 
licked an’ don’t want no more for a long time. Still 
Dale has a master lot of power among the Injuns. 
But we’ll be glad to know you’re out looking for 
fresh footing. Their trail oughter be easy to foller, 
as there was a smart number of ’em had hosses.” 

“I’ll find the trail easy enough, and I’ll satisfy 
myself they are still making toward the Ohio or 
have swung back,” I assured him. “While I’m 
gone keep the young men in the woods and post 
sentinels. Don’t get careless. Don’t let the children 
wander from the cabins. I’m free to tell you, Davis, 
that I don’t believe for a second that you’ve seen 
the last of Black Hoof and his men. Have all those 
living in the outlying cabins use the fort to-night.” 

After reaching the woods, I turned and looked 
back. Dale was standing in the doorway with one 
hand resting on the shoulder of John Ward. Ward 
was talking to Patsy, whose dainty figure could not 
be disguised by the coarse linsey gown. 

The man Ward must have lost some of his taci- 
turnity, for the girl was laughing gaily at whatever 
he was saying. I observed that Dale was still feel- 


LOST SISTER 


181 


in g very important in his role of protector, for as 
he stepped from the doorway he walked with a 
swagger. Well, God give that he was right and 
that the menace had passed from Howard’s Creek. 

I found the trail where it turned back toward 
Tygart’s Valley, even as John Ward had reported, 
and followed it up the Greenbriar. The country 
here was very fertile on both sides of the river and 
would make rich farms should the danger from the 
Indians ever permit it to be settled. Farther back 
from the river on each hand the country was broken 
and mountainous and afforded excellent hiding- 
places for large bodies of Indians, as only rattle- 
snakes, copperheads, wolves and wildcats lived there. 

My mood was equal to overdaring, and all be- 
cause of Patsy Dale. When the sun swung into its 
western arc I halted where a large number of war- 
riors had broken their fast. I ate some food and 
pushed on. After two miles of travel I came to a 
branching of the trail. Two of the band had turned 
off to the northeast. My interest instantly shifted 
from the main trail to the smaller one, for I assumed 
the two were scouting some particular neighbor- 
hood, and that by following it I would learn the 
object of their attention and be enabled to give 
warning. 

That done, the footing would lead me back to 
the main band. The signs were few and barely 
sufficient to allow me to keep up the pursuit. It 


K VIRGINIA SCOUT 


182 

was not until I came to a spring, the overflow of 
which had made muck of the ground, that I was 
afforded an opportunity to inspect the two sets of 
tracks. One set was made by moccasins almost as 
small as those I had given to Patricia Dale. 

But why a squaw on a war-path? It was very 
puzzling. From the amount of moisture already 
seeped into the tracks I estimated the two of them 
had stood there within thirty minutes. My pursuit 
became more cautious. Not more than twenty rods 
from the spring I came to a trail swinging in from 
the east, as shown by a broken vine and a bent bush. 

The newcomer had moved carelessly and had 
fallen in behind the two Indians. I stuck to the 
trail until the diminished sunlight warned me it 
would soon be too dark to continue. Then I caught 
a whiff of burning wood and in ten minutes I was 
reconnoitering a tiny glade. 

My first glance took in a small fire; my second 
glance dwelt upon a scene that sent me into the open 
on the jump. An Indian sat at the foot of a walnut- 
tree, his legs crossed and his empty hands hanging 
over his knees. At one side crouched a squaw, her 
long hair falling on each side of her face and hiding 
her profile. In a direct line between me and the 
warrior stood Shelby Cousin, his rifle bearing on 
the warrior. 

My step caused him to turn, expecting to behold 
another native. The man on the ground made no 


LOST SISTER 


183 


attempt to take advantage of the interruption; and 
in the next second Cousin’s long double-barrel rifle 
was again aiming at the painted chest. 

“Don’t go for to try any sp’ilin’ o’ my game,” 
warned Cousin without looking at me. 

“They’re scouts from a big band of Shawnees 
now making toward Tygart’s Valley,” I informed 
him. “Can’t we learn something from them?” 

“I’m going to kill this one now. The squaw can 
go. Crabtree would snuff her out, but I ain’t 
reached the p’int where I can do that yet.” 

“You coward !” cried the squaw in excellent Eng- 
lish. 

Cousin darted a puzzled glance at her. His vic- 
tim seemed to be indifferent to his fate; nor did the 
woman offer to interfere. 

“She’s a white woman !” I cried. For a sunbeam 
straggled through the growth and rested on the 
long hair and revealed it to be fine and brown and 
never to be mistaken for the coarse black locks of 
an Indian. 

“White?” faltered Cousin, lowering his rifle. 
“Watch that devil, Morris!” 

I dropped on a log with my rifle across my knees. 
Cousin strode to the woman and caught her by the 
shoulder and pulled her to her feet. For a long 
minute the two stared. 

“Shelby?” 

The words dropped from her lips in a sibilous 


1 84 A VIRGINIA SCOUT 

crescendo as her blood drove her to a display of 
emotion. 

Cousin’s hands slowly advanced and pushed back 
the long locks. He advanced his face close to hers, 
and I knew his slight form was trembling. Then 
he staggered back and jerkily brought his arm 
across his eyes. 

“God ! It’s my sister !” I heard him mutter. 

I leaped to my feet, crying out for him to be a 
man. He remained motionless with his arm across 
his face, helpless to defend himself. I turned to the 
woman. Whatever light had shone in her eyes 
when memory forced his name from her lips had 
departed. 

Her face was cold and immobile as she met my 
wild gaze. There was a streak of yellow paint run- 
ning from the bridge of her nose to the parting of 
her brown hair. Her skin was as dark as any 
Shawnee’s, but her eyes held the blue of the corn- 
flower. 

I tried to discover points of resemblance between 
her and the boy and succeeded only when she turned 
her head in profile ; then they were very much alike. 
He lowered his arm to look over it, and she watched 
him without changing her expression. 

With a hoarse cry he straightened and answer- 
ing the impulse in his heart, sprang toward her, his 
arms outstretched to enfold her. She gave ground, 
not hastily as though wishing to avoid his embrace. 


LOST SISTER 


i85 

but with a sinuous twist of her lithe body, and she 
repulsed him by raising her hand. He stared at 
her stupidly, and mumbled : 

“You remember me. You called my name. You 
know I am your brother. You know we lived on 
Keeney’s Knob. You remember the creek ” 

“I remember,” she quietly interrupted. “A very 
long time ago. Very long. I am a Shawnee now. 
My heart is red.” 

Her words stunned him for a bit, then he man- 
aged to gasp out, “Who is this man?” And he 
glared at the warrior seated at the foot of the tree. 

“My husband.” 

The boy’s mouth popped open, but without utter- 
ing a sound he stooped and grabbed for his rifle. I 
placed my foot on it and seized his arm and pleaded 
with him to regain his senses before he took any 
action. During all this the warrior remained as 
passive as the tree-roots against which he half- 
reclined. 

After a brief hysterical outburst Cousin stood 
erect and ceased struggling with me. And all the 
time his sister had watched us speculatively, her 
gaze as cold and impersonal as though she had been 
looking at a rock. It was very hideous. It was 
one of those damnable situations which must end at 
once, and to which there can be no end. For the 
boy to kill his sister’s husband was an awful thing 
to contemplate. 


1 86 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


I pulled the lad back and softly whispered : 

“You can’t do it. The blood would always be 
between you two. She has changed. She believes 
she is red. Take her aside and talk with her. If she 
will go with you make for the mountains and get 
her to the settlements.” 

“An’ him?” 

“I will wait an hour. If you two do not return 
before an.hour — Well, he will not bother you.” 

At first he did not seem to understand; then he 
seized my free hand and gripped it tightly. Taking 
his rifle, he approached the girl and took her by the 
arm. 

“Come,” he gently told her. “We must talk, you 
and I. I have hunted for you for years.” 

She was suspicious of us two, but she did not 
resist him. 

“Wait,” she said. 

She glided to the savage and leaned over him and 
said something. Then she was back to her brother, 
and the two disappeared into the woods. 

I drew a line on the savage and in Shawnee 
demanded : 

“Throw me the knife she gave you.” 

Glaring at me sullenly, he flipped the knife toward 
the fire and resumed his attitude of abstraction. I 
had never killed an unarmed Indian. I had never 
shot one in cold blood. The office of executioner 
did not appeal, but repulsive as it was it would not 


LOST SISTER 


187 


do for the boy to kill his savage brother-in-law. 
Lost Sister and the savage were man and wife, even 
if married according to the Indian custom. 

Nor would it do for a woman of Virginia to be 
redeemed to civilization with a red husband roam- 
ing at large. No. The fellow must die, and I had 
the nasty work to do. The glade was thickening 
with shadows, but the sunlight still marked the top 
of an elm and made glorious the zenith. When the 
light died from the heavens I would assassinate the 
man. 

This would give him a scant hour, but a dozen or 
fifteen minutes of life could make small difference. 
Then again, once the dusk filled the glade my im- 
passive victim would become alert and up to some of 
his devilish tricks. He did not change his position 
except as he turned his head to gaze fixedly at the 
western forest wall. One could imagine him to be 
ignorant of my presence. 

“Where does Black Hoof lead his warriors ?” I 
asked him. 

Without deflecting his gaze he answered : 

“Back to their homes on the Scioto.” 

“The white trader, the Pack-Horse-Man, spoke 
words that drive them back? ,, 

It was either a trick of the dying light, or else I 
detected an almost imperceptible twitching of the 
grim lips. After a short pause he said : 

“The Shawnees are not driven. They will pick 


1 88 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


up the end of the peace-belt. They will not drop it 
on the ground again. Tah-gah-jute (Logan) does 
not wish for war. He has taken ten scalps for ever}'' 
one taken from his people at Baker's house. He 
has covered the dead. The Pack-Horse-Man spoke 
wise words.” 

“This white woman? You know she must go 
back to her people.” 

Again the faint twitching of the lips. When he 
spoke it was to say : 

“She can go where she will or where she is made 
to go. If she is taken to the white settlements she 
will run away and go back to the Scioto. Her peo- 
ple are red. After the French War, after Pontiac's 
War, it was the same. White prisoners were 
returned to the white people. Many of them escaped 
and came back to us.” 

His voice was calm and positive and my confi- 
dence in the girl’s willingness to return to civiliza- 
tion was shaken. She had been as stolid as her red 
mate in my presence, but I had believed that nature 
would conquer her ten years' of savagery once she 
was alone with her brother. 

The light had left the top of the elm and the 
fleecy clouds overhead were no longer dazzling 
because of their borrowed splendor. I cocked my 
rifle. The savage folded his arms as he caught the 
sound, but his gaze toward the west never wavered. 
To nerve myself into shooting the fellow in cold 


LOST SISTER 


189 


blood I made myself think of the girl’s terrible fate, 
and was succeeding rapidly when a light step 
sounded behind me and her low voice was saying: 

“My brother is at the spring. You will find him 
there.” 

I rose and dropped the rifle into the hollow of my 
left arm and stared at her incredulously. It had 
happened before, the rebellion of white prisoners at 
quitting their captors. Yet the girl’s refusal was 
astounding. 

“You would not go with him?” 

“I am here. I go to my people,” she answered. 
“He is waiting for you. The squaws would laugh 
at him. He is very weak.” 

With an oath I whirled toward the Indian. Had 
he made a move or had he reflected her disdain with 
a smile, his white-red wife surely would have been 
a widow on the spot. But he had not shifted his 
position. To all appearances he was not even inter- 
ested in his wife’s return. And she too now ignored 
me, and busied herself in gathering up their few 
belongings and slinging them on her back. Then 
she went to him, and in disgust and rage I left them 
and sped through the darkening woods to the spring 
where I had first seen the imprints of her tiny moc- 
casins. 

Cousin was there, seated and his head bowed on 
his chest, a waiting victim for the first Indian scout 
who might happen along. 


190 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


I dragged him to his feet and harshly said : 

“Come ! We must go. Your white sister is dead. 
Your search is ended. Your sister died in the raid 
on Keeney’s Knob.” 

“My little sister,” he whispered. 

He went with me passively enough, and he did 
not speak until we had struck into the main trail of 
the Shawnees. Then he asked: 

“You did not kill him?” 

“No.” 

“It’s best that way. There ’re ’nough others. 
They’ll pay for it.” 

I abandoned my plan of following the war-party 
farther and was only anxious to get my companion 
back to the protection of Howard’s Creek. We fol- 
lowed the back-trail for a few miles and then were 
forced by the night to make a camp. I opened my 
supply of smoked meat and found a spring. I did 
not dare to risk a fire. But he would not eat. Only 
once did he speak that night, and that was to say : 

“I must keep clear o’ the settlements. If I don’t 
I’ll do as Ike Crabtree does, kill in sight o’ the 
cabins.” 

In the morning he ate some of my food; not as if 
he were hungry, but as if forcing himself to a dis- 
agreeable task. He seemed to be perfectly willing 
to go on with me, but he did not speak of the girl 
again. 

When we drew near the creek he began to look 


LOST SISTER 


191 

about him. He at once recognized the surroundings 
and made a heroic effort to control himself. When 
we swung into the clearing there was nothing in his 
appearance to denote the terrible experience he had 
passed through. 

Now that we were back I was beset by a fear, that 
the sight of Patricia in all her loveliness would be 
an overwhelming shock to his poor brain. It was 
with great relief that I got him to the Moulton cabin 
without his glimpsing Patsy. 

“You can tell ’em if you want to. S’pose they’ll 
Tarn it some time,” he said to me as we reached the 
door and met Mrs. Moulton and her little girl. 
With that he passed inside and seated himself in a 
corner and bowed his head. 

I drew Mrs. Moulton aside and briefly explained 
his great sorrow. With rich sympathy she stole into 
the cabin and began mothering him, patting his 
shoulders and stroking the long hair back from his 
wan face. 

My own affairs became of small importance when 
measured beside this tragedy. I had no trepidation 
now in facing Patricia. I walked boldly to the 
Davis cabin and thrust my head in the door. Only 
Davis and his wife were there. 

“Where are the Dales ?” I bruskly asked. 

“Gone,” grunted Davis in disgust. 

“Gone back home?” I eagerly asked. 

“What do you think!” babbled Mrs. Davis. 


192 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


“Cousin Ericus has took that gal down toward the 
Clinch. He ’lows now he’s goin’ to keep the Injuns 
out of that valley — ” 

“Good God! Why did you let them go?” 

Davis snorted angrily, and exclaimed : 

“Let ’em go! How ye goin’ to stop her? ’Twas 
she that was bound to be movin’ on. Just made her 
daddy go.” 

“When did they start?” 

“Right after you lit out. Seems ’s if th’ gal 
couldn’t git shut o’ this creek quick ’nough.” 

I ran from the cabin to get my horse and start in 
immediate pursuit. By the time I reached the 
animal, well rested during my absence, I became 
more reasonable. After all Black Hoof was travel- 
ing north. There would be small chance of another 
band raiding down the Clinch for some time at 
least. I needed rest. Night travel would advance 
me but slowly. I would start early in the morning. 


CHAPTER VIII 


IN abb's valley 

/^\RIOLES and mocking-birds sang in the open- 
ings, and startled deer fled before our advance 
as Shelby Cousin and I rode for the Clinch. The 
heat of July was tempered by a breeze out of the 
north, and the heavens were filled with hurrying 
white argosies. So it had ever been since the white 
man came to these pleasant ridges and rich bottom- 
lands ; perfume, song, gracious valleys, and the lurk- 
ing red evil. 

Cousin had regained his self-control overnight 
and outwardly appeared to be thoroughly composed. 
He talked but little, and then only when I took the 
lead. I refrained from mentioning the tragedy of 
yesterday and the sun was noon-high before he 
brought the matter up. 

“I couldn't kill that feller,” he abruptly informed 
me. 

There was no preface to indicate whom he meant, 
but I knew and nodded sympathetically. 

“An' Ed rather kill him than all the rest o' the 
Injuns 'tween here V Detroit,” he added after a 
long pause. 


193 


194 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


“She will never come back to us?” I asked; for 
he had given no details of his interview with his 
sister. 

“She’ll never come back. For a time I’d a mind 
to drag her away, but she was so cold to me, so 
Injun-like in her way of lettin’ me know it wouldn’t 
do no good, that I give it up. You see she was only 
a child when captured. Women caught when much 
older’n her have gone for to choose a wigwam to a 
cabin.” 

“Do you wish I had shot him?” 

“No. If it could happen in a open fight — that’s 
different. It wouldn’t do any good to hurt her by 
killin’ him. But I wish he was dead !” 

We stopped and ate and rode several miles before 
either of us spoke again. Then I said : 

“There’s a girl ahead, about your age.” 

He was disturbed to hear it and I feared he would 
wish to leave me. 

“I don’t want her captured by Indians,” I added. 

“God forbid it!” he hoarsely cried. 

Having prepared him for seeing Patricia, I 
shifted his line of thought by asking, “What do 
you think of John Ward?” 

“Injun.” 

I said nothing and after a few minutes he went 
on : 

“Took by Injuns when a little boy, just like 
Tavenor Ross and George Collet was took. I’ve 


IN ABB’S VALLEY 


195 


heard traders tell about the three of ’em. When 
they’re took so young they grow up just as much 
Injuns as if they was born red. Ward’s that way. 
Must be. Look at the sister I lost!” 

“But Ward comes back to settlements. He even 
crosses the mountains. He says he escaped.” 

“He wouldn’t be travelin’ round these parts if he 
was a’ ’scaped prisoner. As for crossin’ the moun- 
tains he might ’a’ gone for to see what he could see. 
Cornstalk has spies all up an’ down the frontier. I 
’low them two we met yesterday was bent on spyin’. 
God ! That’s a’ awful thought ! But I ain’t got no 
sister. It was a red woman we seen. She ’n’ her 
man was spyin’. If not that why should they be 
makin’ east into the mountains? I ’low he was to 
stay hid while ’nother ’scaped prisoner rode down 
into some settlement.” 

From that speech on I do not remember that he 
spoke of his sister as being any kin of his. When 
he must mention her he usually styled her, “That 
woman who’s turned red.” 

To get his thoughts away from her I rattled on 
about my trip to Richfield and told of my expe- 
riences in returning over the mountains. After I 
had narrated Hughes’ quick action in saving me 
from an assassin’s bullet Cousin jerked up his head 
and said: 

“Moccasin, one you give to that there young 
woman we’re now followin’?” 


196 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


I nodded, and he continued : 

“I ’low it was John Ward who tried to pot you. 
He stole the moccasin and sneaked back an’ laid the 
trap. Prob’ly laid it for whoever come along with- 
out knowin’ who would walk into it. You was 
mighty lucky to have Hughes there.” I had never 
connected Ward with that attempt on my life. 

‘The Dales believe Ward to be what he pretends 
— an escaped prisoner,” I said. 

“Course they do,” sighed the boy. “The coun- 
try’s full of fools. After he’s led ’em to the stake 
an’ they begin to roast they’ll wake up an’ reckon 
that there’s something wrong with his white blood.” 

His matter-of-fact way of expressing it made my 
blood congeal. It was unthinkable to imagine Patsy 
Dale in the hands of the Indians. I urged my horse 
to a sharper clip, but Cousin warned me: 

“No use hurryin’. Save your nag for the time 
when you’ll need him mighty bad. I ’low we can 
overtake ’em afore anything happens.” 

We had discovered no fresh Indian-signs. Black 
Hoof and his braves were far north of us. We 
knew scouts were ranging up the Clinch and Hol- 
ston, and that the people were forting from Fort 
Chiswell to the head of the Holston, and that prac- 
tically all the settlers had left Rich Valley between 
Walker’s Mountain and the north fork of the Hol- 
ston. 

Nearly all the settlers had come off the heads of 


IN ABB’S VALLEY 


197 


Sandy and Walker’s Creeks and were building forts 
at David Doack’s mill on the Clinch and on the 
head waters of the middle fork of the Holston, as 
well as at Gasper Kinder’s place in Poor Valley. 

Cornstalk must know the time was near when the 
whites would send an army against the Shawnee 
towns north of the Ohio, and he was too cunning a 
warrior to risk sending many of his men into south- 
western Virginia. Black Hoof was there with a 
large force, but he could not tarry without leaving 
the Scioto towns uncovered. 

Therefore my opinion coincided with my com- 
panion’s, once my first flurry of fear was expended* 
The Dales were in no immediate danger, and if any 
hostile band was below New River it would be a 
small one. Once more I allowed my horse to take 
his time. I began to find room for wondering how 
I was to overcome my embarrassment once we did 
come up with the Dales. 

Ericus Dale would rant and indulge in abuse. 
Patricia would be remembering my lack of faith in 
her father’s influence over the natives. She would 
want none of my company. But if Cousin and T 
could trail them unseen until they entered a small 
settlement at the head of the Bluestone, where they 
would be sure to pause before making for the head 
of the Clinch, we could pretend we were scouting 
far south and had met them by accident; then we 
could ride on ahead of them. 


198 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


Their trail was simple to follow. The Dales were 
mounted and Ward was afoot and leading a pack- 
horse. We came to their several camps, and at each 
of these I observed the girl was wearing my mocca- 
sins. When Cousin would behold the small imprint 
his face would twist in anguish. Poor devil ! 

For three days we leisurely followed them, and 
each sunrise found me entertaining fewer fears for 
the girl's safety. We timed our progress so as to 
pitch our last camp within a mile of the settlement 
in Abb’s Valley on the Bluestone, intending to 
reconnoiter it for signs of the Dales before showing 
ourselves. 

The valley was about ten miles long and very nar- 
row and possessing unusually fertile soil. It was 
named after Absalom Looney, a hunter, who claimed 
to have discovered it. Cousin informed me there 
were three cabins and a small fort in the valley when 
he last visited it. At that time one of the families 
was planning to cross the mountains and sacrifice 
the summer’s planting. 

“Mebbe they’ve all come off since then. Or them 
that’s stayed may be killed an’ sculped by this time,” 
he added. 

“Whatever may have happened to the settlers is 
all finished by this time and there can be no danger 
for the Dales,” I declared. 

“I ’low they’re packin’ their worst danger along 
with ’em,” he mumbled. 


IN ABB’S VALLEY 


199 


“Meaning John Ward?” 

“Meaning him,” was the terse answer. 

This set all my fears to galloping again, and they 
rode one another close. What if Ward were the 
creature Cousin pictured him? Then he must have 
designs on the Dales, and he would persuade them to 
travel in a direction which would lead them into a 
trap. If Ward were “red” he already had planned 
just where he would bag his game. 

Against this line of reasoning was our failure to 
discover fresh signs, and the fact that Black Hoofs 
band was making north. Then one fear drew ahead 
of all others, and I was thrown into a panic lest 
Ward plotted to count his coup unaided and would 
murder the trader and his daughter. I rose from 
the fire and announced my intention of proceeding 
to the valley settlement that night. I told Cousin 
my fears. 

“That’s just so much foolishness,” he told me. 
“If Ward’s up to them sort o’ tricks he’d ’a’ made 
his kill when only a few miles from Howard’s Creek, 
when he was that much closer to Black Hoof’s band. 
Then he’d ’a’ sneaked north to j’in his red friends 
and dance his sculps. But we’ve found all their 
camps, and nothin’ has happened. They’re safe so 
far.” 

It was near morning before I could sleep and I 
awoke at sunrise. Cousin was missing. I investi- 
gated and discovered he had gone on foot, so I 


200 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


assumed he was out to kill some meat to pack into 
the settlement. I prepared something to eat and 
finished my portion and was kneeling to drink from 
a spring when I heard him coming through the 
woods. He was running and making much noise, 
and I had a presentiment that something very evil 
had happened. Before he came into view he called 
my name sharply. 

“All right ! I’m here ! What is it ?” I answered. 

“Devil’s come for his pay!” he snapped as he 
burst through the last of the growth. “Only two 
miles west fresh tracks of big war-party makin’ 
south. They’re makin’ for Abb’s Valley. That 
white-Injun devil fixed it up. Goin’ to gobble the 
settlers along with your fool friends. If we can’t 
stop ’em they’ll git every white in the valley sure’s 
Sabba’day preachin’ !” 

Until that moment I had never dreamed of the 
exquisite torture that the threat of an Indian raid 
could induce. I secured my weapons and mounted 
without realizing what I was doing. My first coher- 
ent thought was one of amazement to behold Cousin 
stuffing smoked meat into his pack with one hand 
while the other held a tough morsel for his teeth to 
tear at. He ate like a famished wolf. 

“Can’t fight without some linin’,” he mumbled. 
“An’ we’ll take what’s left along. May git in a 
corner an’ have mighty little time for cookin’.” 

I urged my horse into a gallop. Cousin tore after 


IN ABB’S VALLEY 


201 


me, angrily calling on me to wait. I was in no mood 
to wait, and endeavored to get even more speed out 
of my animal. Then Cousin brought me to my 
senses by yelling : 

“All right ! Kill ’em if you want to !” 

I pulled in and he drove alongside, crying : 

“First thing you know you’ll be runnin’ into a 
nest o’ them devils. Their path and our path draws 
together an’ enters the valley as one path.” 

“But we must reach the valley ahead of them!” 

“Can’t be did,” he discouraged. “Best we can 
do is to sneak up on ’em without bein’ seen.” 

As a last hope I suggested: 

“Perhaps after all they know nothing about the 
Dales.” 

“They know ’bout Abb’s Valley. It’s Black 
Hoof’s band. Made off north, then swung back 
down here, keepin’ clear o’ Howard’s Creek. If 
they clean out Abb’s Valley they’ll clean out the 
creek on their way home.” 

Scant consolation in all this. It was a great relief 
to reach the Bluestone and prepare for action. We 
spanceled our horses in a tiny opening well sur- 
rounded by woods. Cousin was familiar with the 
country and led the way. Instead of making for 
the mouth of the narrow valley we gained the end 
of one of its enclosing ridges and scouted along 
the slope. 

When we halted and Cousin carefully parted the 


202 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


bushes I observed we were behind three cabins and 
high enough up the slope to see over them. The 
valley at this point was not more than fifty rods 
wide, and appeared to be even less because of the 
long walls stretching away for ten miles. 

Some children were laughing at their play and 
were hidden from view as long as they kept close to 
the door of the middle cabin. A dog was growling 
and barking, but as he did not join the sport of the 
little ones we concluded he was tied. One of the red 
cabins, that nearest to the mouth of the valley, did 
not appear to be occupied. 

Through the small window of the cabin farthest 
up the valley I glimpsed two persons moving about 
when they passed between the window and the open 
door. A few rods farther out toward the middle 
of the valley and nearer the Bluestone than the unoc- 
cupied cabin, were the four walls of what had been 
intended for a fort. It lacked the roof. For some 
reason the men had suspended work on it, being too 
few to complete it, or else deciding the cabins fur- 
nished sufficient protection. 

Three men, all strangers to me, now entered our 
line of vision as they walked out from the shelter of 
the middle cabin. Cousin told me their names. The 
tall man with the long black beard was Granville, 
one of the original settlers. He and his wife and 
two children, with Mrs. Granville’s sister, lived in 
the middle cabin. A short swarthy man was Nate 


IN ABB’S VALLEY 


203 


Dicks. He had sent his family over the mountains 
and was staying behind to gather the season’s crops, 
explained Cousin. The third man was along in 
years and walked with a limp. 

“That’s the old Englishman. All the name he 
goes by. No kin to any one on this side the ocean, 
he says. He lives with the Granvilles. The empty 
cabin belonged to the Drakes. They pulled out 
early this spring. Dicks lives in the t’other-end 
cabin.” 

“I make out at least two people in there now,” I 
murmured. 

“They’ll be the Dales. Dicks’s prob’ly sleepin’ in 
the Granville cabin.” 

My heart behaved badly for a minute. 

“Listen to that pup!” softly exclaimed Cousin, 
his brows drawing down. “The fools have him tied 
up, an they ain’t got sense ’nough to hark to what 
he’s tryin’ to tell ’em.” 

“We’re here ahead of the Indians. Let’s go 
down,” I urged. 

“Wait! Look across!” He pointed to the wall 
of woods opposite our hiding-place. John Ward 
had broken cover and was stalking toward the 
cabins. The black cloth he wore around his head 
gave him a sinister, piratical appearance and his feet 
tracked like an Indian’s. 

I would have descended the slope but Cousin 
clutched my arm, whispering: 


204 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


“If there ain’t no Injuns across the valley we can 
afford to wait a bit. If there is, our goin’ down 
would hurry up their attack. It won’t do to call out 
an’ scare ’em so they’ll scatter. As they are now 
they can fort themselves in the shake of a dog’s 
tail.” 

Two women, Mrs. Granville and her sister, now 
walked back of the middle cabin and picked up some 
wood. Both were barefooted, and I was close 
enough to read the expression of constant fear on 
each face. As they stooped for the wood their gaze 
was continually roving over the woods on our ridge, 
and often their fingers fumbled for a fagot while 
their eyes persisted in examining the forest. 

Now Dale and Patsy emerged from their cabin 
and walked to meet Ward. Cousin groaned aloud 
as he beheld the girl. There was something in her 
appearance to remind him of his lost sister. Ericus 
Dale greeted Ward with a wide flourish of his hand. 
Ward was emotionless as a Shawnee chief. Gran- 
ville and Dicks hurried to join the three, anxious 
no doubt to learn the result of Ward’s scouting. 

His report seemed to please the men, for Gran- 
ville laid aside his rifle and began chopping a long 
log into fireplace lengths. Dicks walked toward 
the middle cabin, lustily singing: 

“Ye patriot souls who love to sing, 

What serves your country and your king, 

In wealth, peace, and royal estate; 


IN ABB’S VALLEY 


205 


Attention give whilst I rehearse 
A modern fact in jingling verse.” 

This song, six or seven lengthy stanzas in all, was 
written by Mr. George Campbell, an Irish gentle- 
man, and was popular along the frontier. It was 
sung to the tune of the Black Joke , and commem- 
orated the successful efforts of Captain James Smith 
to prevent Philadelphia traders from sending wea- 
pons of war to the northwest tribes shortly after the 
treaty of 1765 was concluded. 

Dicks was finishing the first stanza as he entered 
the cabin. He broke off sharply to rebuke the dog. 
Soon he came out with a bag. At about a hundred 
yards from the cabin, and farther up the valley than 
any of them, was the lick-block. Dicks was walking 
toward this. Several horses broke from the growth 
across the valley and ran toward the cabins. 

“Almost act like they was skeered,” whispered 
Cousin. 

“Coming in to be salted,” I corrected as the 
horses swerved and galloped toward the block. 
Dicks was ambling along slowly and reverting to 
his song. The dog suddenly darted from the cabin 
and streaked after Dicks, a piece of rawhide trailing 
from his neck. As he ran he made a great outcry. 
Dicks was very angry to have his vocal efforts inter- 
rupted, and he halted and swung the bag of salt in 
an attempt to hit the dog, all the while commanding 


206 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


him to go back. The horses were now at the block 
and stepping about uneasily. 

"I never guessed that! Come on! Something 
will bu’st loose in a minute!” groaned Cousin. 

We started to slide down the bank, when a ter- 
rible tragedy took place before our eyes. As Dicks 
was emptying the salt on to the lick-block the horses 
sprang back and bolted in alarm, and an Indian’s 
topknot, decorated with wild-turkey feathers, bobbed 
up from behind the block. Dicks seemed to be 
paralyzed. The savage struck him with his ax and 
the unfortunate man went down, dead before he lost 
his footing. In the next second the dog, a huge 
brute of mongrel breed, cleared the block and closed 
his jaws on the murderer’s neck. 

This was a signal for Cousin’s prophecy to come 
true. A deafening chorus of howls burst from the 
woods opposite the cabins, and a volley of bullets 
rained among the settlers. Mrs. Granville and the 
two children dropped. The old Englishman, stand- 
ing nearer the cabins, staggered and turned around 
two or three times. Granville, unharmed, picked 
up the body of his wife. 

The old Englishman was very brave, for he 
limped forward and managed to gather up the chil- 
dren, one under each arm. Granville’s sister was 
practical enough to secure her brother-in-law’s rifle 
and ax. The three, with their dead, made for the 
middle cabin. 


IN ABB’S VALLEY 


207 


All this happened in the wink of an eye. The 
Dales and Ward, walking toward the end cabin 
when Dicks was killed, halted and stood as if stu- 
pefied. None of the bullets had reached them. The 
girl seized her father’s arm and led him to shelter. 
He was unhurt, but he moved with shuffling steps, 
much like a tavern-loafer soggy from rum. 

We ran to enter the nearest cabin, which hap- 
pened to be Granville’s, but the door was slammed 
and barred before we could round the corner. 

“In here!” sharply cried Cousin, darting through 
the doorway of the empty cabin. 

As I piled in after him I saw Patsy and Dale en- 
tering their cabin, but Ward, the white Indian, was 
running to cover up the valley. And not a savage 
had shown himself with the exception of the one 
who had counted coup at the lick-block. This fel- 
low was still in sight and extremely busy. 

With our door ajar we watched the ghastly 
struggle between the faithful mongrel and the 
assassin. The Indian had lost his ax but had man- 
aged to draw his knife. The dog’s teeth were buried 
in his throat before he could get his blade loose. 
I raised my rifle but Cousin laughed and knocked 
it aside and cried : 

“Let him make his kill ! It’s his coup !” 

The warrior staggered clear of the block, his 
desperate plight blinding him to all else. His eyes 
were protruding. He stabbed blindly. I cried out 


208 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


in pain as I saw the knife sink to the hilt. But the 
faithful beast had locked his jaws and the weight 
of his body was already ripping the red throat open. 
Dead dog and dying warrior fell side by side. The 
dog had counted the first coup for the whites. 

Now we caught our first view of the enemy. A 
long line of Shawnees emerged from the woods, 
running and leaping and jumping from side to side, 
sinking behind stumps and vanishing behind the 
scattered trees. 

“We’ve got time to make the ridge back o’ here,” 
spoke up Cousin. “We’s fools to come in here. 
S’pose we go.” 

“You go! I must stick,” I told him. 

“We can do ’em more good out in the open than 
by bein’ cooped up in here,” he quietly reasoned. 

“You go. I can’t leave the girl.” 

“Then bar the door,” he commanded. 

I did so, and through a loophole knocked over a 
savage who had paused in the open to brandish a 
war-ax thickly decorated with either feathers or 
scalps. 

“Good! We’ll make a fine fight of it!” grimly 
said Cousin as he stepped from a loophole at the 
back of the cabin. “It’s too late for us to make the 
ridge now. It’s crawlin’ with the vermin.” 

His bearing was exceedingly cheerful as he posted 
himself at the front of the cabin, his double-barrel 
rifle ready for a snap-shot. He fired the two bar- 
rels almost together, and laughed boisterously. 


IN ABB’S VALLEY 


209 


“Two tryin’ to hide behind one small tree,” he 
explained. “Got one dead an’ sp’iled t’other.” 

As yet not a shot had been fired from the other 
two cabins. A voice called from the Granville 
cabin. I found a chink in the wall and beheld the 
face of the Englishman peering from the small end 
window. 

“Who’s there?” he kept demanding in a shrill 
voice. 

“Two white scouts. Get to shooting!” 

He could not see me but he heard me, and van- 
ished to help in the defense. Cousin had reloaded 
and was watching the valley closely. Bullets were 
plunking into the log walls, but I knew none of the 
savages were exposing themselves, else my compan- 
ion would be shooting. From the Granville cabin 
several shots were fired without any effect so far 
as we could make out. Then again the Englishman 
was calling us. I went forward. 

“Hear what I say ?” he cried. 

I answered that we could. 

“Ericus Dale says for us to stop shooting or he 
can’t save us,” he informed us. 

“He can’t save himself!” I yelled back. 

“He thinks he can save all of us.” 

“He couldn’t save the man at the lick-block,” I 
reminded. 

“Aye. There’s sorry truth in that.” 

“This valley’s a trap. John Ward, the white In- 
dian, led him and his daughter into it,” I shouted. 


210 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


“God help and pity us !” he groaned. Then more 
calmly, “Ward came back from the woods this 
morning and said there were no signs of Indians.” 

“He met them and talked with them, and planned 
how they should surprise you people. The warrior 
at the lick-block knew Dicks would discover him, so 
he showed himself and made his kill.” 

“Aye. That is reasonable thinking.” 

“What losses in there?” I asked. I thrust my 
knife-blade between the logs so he might know 
where I was standing and cease rolling his eyes in 
his efforts to locate me. 

His old face screwed up in pain. 

“Mistress Granville and the two children, shot 
dead. Perhaps it’s best that way. I’m wounded — 
that don’t count. You going to keep on shooting?” 

“As long as we can pull trigger.” 

“I’ll tell Granville. He wants to save his sister 
if he can.” 

“Then he must fight. Tell him so,” I warned. 

I turned back to Cousin. He was scowling sav- 
agely through his peephole. “Take the back side 
’n’ watch for signs on the ridge,” he mumbled. 
“Them out front are huggin’ dirt an’ not tryin’ to 
git nearer. They’re waitin’ for somethin’.” 

At the back of the cabin I found a tiny chink and 
applied my eye. My first thought was that a comet 
was streaming down into my face. The long war- 
arrow, weighted with a blazing mass of pitch- 


IN ABB’S VALLEY 


21 1 


smeared moss, stuck in a log a few inches below my 
peephole. From the ridge came a howl of triumph. 

By thrusting my knife-blade through the hole and 
against the shaft of the arrow I managed to dislodge 
it, and it burned itself out against the huge bottom 
log. We did not fear fire until the arrows stuck 
in the roof. The same thought was in Cousin’s 
mind. He did not look around, but he had smelled 
the smoke and he directed: 

“Climb up an’ work the roof-poles apart a bit 
so’s you can knock ’em off the roof when they land.” 

I soon had the poles slightly separated in two 
places. As I finished a dozen flying brands poured 
down on the Granville cabin and ours. One arrow 
lodged on our roof close to the eves. Two were 
burning on the ridgepole of the Granville cabin. 
The others either stuck harmlessly in the logs or 
overshot and stood so many torches in the ground. 
By means of the table I scrambled back to the roof 
and managed to knock the menace to the ground. 
While I was thus engaged Cousin fired both barrels. 

“What luck?” I asked as I jumped to the floor. 

“Just bein’ neighborly,” he growled as he rapidly 
loaded. “Shot them two arrers off the next roof.” 

Suddenly the savage howling ceased; nor were 
there any more fire-arrows. Then the Englishman 
began shouting. He was once more calling us. I 
answered and wriggled the knife-blade between the 
logs. Sure of my attention he loudly informed us: 


212 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


“Dale passes the word for us to stop fighting. 
Says he’s going to save us.” 

“To the devil with Dale !” snarled Cousin, show- 
ing his teeth like a wolf. 

“He’s going out to talk with ’em,” added the 
Englishman. 

“Lord! What a fool!” lamented Cousin. 

“He’s going now,” continued the Englishman. 

I darted to Cousin’s side and peered out. We 
heard the bar drop from the end cabin; then Dale 
came into view, walking with a swagger toward the 
concealed savages. In one hand he held up a string 
of white wampum. And as he slowly advanced he 
shouted in the Shawnee language: 

“Do my brothers fire on their brother? Do they 
harm their brother’s friends ? Does the Pack-Horse- 
Man ask his red brothers to be kind only to have 
his words fall on dead ears? I bring you belts. My 
daughter in the cabin also brings belts to the Shaw- 
nees and Mingos and the Delawares.” 

“Let our white brother come close,” called a 
deep guttural voice. 

“That’ll be Black Hoof himself,” excitedly mut- 
tered Cousin, darting his gaze over the valley in 
search of the stone or log which hid the great chief 
from view. 

“Don’t shoot! They’ll butcher him if you do!” 
I warned. 

“They’ll worse’n butcher him if I don’t,” gritted 


IN ABB’S VALLEY 


213 

Cousin. Yet he held his fire, for the excellent 
reason he could see nothing to shoot at. 

“Tell your people not to fire,” again called Black 
Hoof’s powerful voice. 

Dale faced the cabins and waved his white wam- 
pum, crying : 

“I am saving your lives. You men in the lower 
cabin, throw down your arms !” 

“Like thunder!” grunted Cousin. 

“He’s fairly among them !” I gasped. 

Dale had come to a stop and was turning his head 
and glancing from one point to another on the 
ground as he talked. His voice had its old confident 
ring, and there was a slight smile on his lips as 
he rehearsed his friendship for the red people and 
reminded them how often he visited their villages 
and smoked their pipes. 

When he ceased Black Hoof called out: 

“We will lift a peace-pipe to our good friend, the 
Pack-Horse-Man. We will cover his friends with 
the smoke. Let him tell his friends not to be afraid 
and to throw down their guns.” 

Dale was sure of Granville’s and the English- 
man’s behavior, and he addressed his warning to 
Cousin and me, calling on us in a stentorian voice 
to offer no resistance if we valued our lives. He 
ended by yelling : 

“Catahecassa, war-chief of the Shawnees, spares 
your lives.” 


214 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


Without giving us time to speak, he waved a 
hand and commanded : 

“It’s all right, Patricia! Come out!” 

“Stay where you are!” I screamed, my voice 
muffled by the four stout walls. I jumped to tear 
the bar from the door, but Cousin hurled me aside, 
panting : 

“Too late ! God ! To think such a woman should 
walk into their bloody trap!” 

His words sent me to the loophole. Patricia Dale 
was walking composedly toward her father, her slim 
hands holding up her belts. She winced as she 
passed the lick-block and got a glimpse of the dead 
savage and the dead dog. Then her gaze remained 
steady on her father’s calm face. 

Black Hoof said something-, but there was a 
pounding in my ears which prevented me from hear- 
ing it. I guessed it, though, when Dale called 
out: 

“All you who would be spared come out and leave 
your guns behind!” 

He had barely spoken before the Englishman’s 
voice excitedly called : 

“You two scouts in there.” 

I gave him heed and he informed me : “Granville 
and his sister say they are going out. Do you go 
out ?” 

“We shall stay here. It’s better for you to die 
where you are,” I told him. 


IN ABB’S VALLEY 215 

“Ay, I think it’s better myself. Well, I’m old 
and hungry to be with the children again.” 

The Englishman was a brave man, and very sen- 
sible. He recognized Fate when it paused to stare 
him in the eye. My companion was panting for 
breath and was standing back so as to rest the 
muzzle of his rifle just inside the loophole. A 
glance revealed his deadly purpose. A tall warrior 
was now on his feet. I knew him to be Black Hoof. 
I had seen him at Fort Pitt during one of those 
rare lulls between wars. 

Cousin was fairly out of his head with the lust to 
kill the chief, but the Shawnee took no chances. He 
was careful to keep the girl and her father between 
him and the cabins. I pushed Cousin’s gun aside 
and fiercely upbraided him for placing the Dales’ 
lives in jeopardy. 

“You fool!” he cried. “They’re gone already. 
Are you, too, blind ? If you love that gal out there 
and want to do her the greatest kindness a man can 
ever do to a border woman, shoot her !” 

Granville began shouting: 

“Me ’n’ my sister are cornin’ out. We surrender. 
Tell ’em, Mr. Dale! God knows ’nough blood’s 
been spilt.” 

I heard their cabin door open. Then it closed 
with a bang and we heard the heavy bar drop into 
place. For a moment I believed they had changed 
their minds; then they crossed our line of vision,. 


2 16 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


the man walking ahead with empty hands held high, 
his sister walking behind and wildly waving a white 
cloth. It was the Englishman, skeptical, because of 
our advice, who dropped the bar. 

Cousin began muttering under his breath. I soon 
discovered the reason. John Ward was approach- 
ing the group from the opposite side of the valley 
and trying to keep some of the whites between him 
and our cabin. The nearer he drew to the group, 
the easier this maneuver was. Ward had made a 
half-circuit of the valley and was advancing through 
the lines of hidden braves. Cousin would have tried 
a shot at the renegade if not for fear of instamt 
reprisal on the girl. It was horrible to hear him 
curse and moan as he nursed the set of triggers. 

“Shut up!” I whispered. “Watch them close!” 

I meant Granville and his sister; for as they 
entered the zone held by the enemy I observed a 
clump of low bushes dipping and swaying behind 
them. The woman saw something that frightened 
her, for she pressed close to her brother and shook 
the white cloth toward the ground. The grotesque 
fancy came into my head that she would do the same 
thing if she wanted to shoo some chickens out of a 
garden. 

Granville and his sister walked up to Black Hoof, 
the woman still waving the cloth to make sure the 
chief beheld it and recognized its sacred character. 
Dale turned to give Cousin, the Englishman and me 


IN ABB’S VALLEY 


217 

one last chance to save our lives; and the hideous 
work began. 

John Ward seized Patricia from behind, holding 
her by her arms as a bulwark against our lead. 
Black Hoof with a lightning gesture raised his ax 
and struck Dale with the flat of it, sending him 
crashing to the ground. Almost at the same mo- 
ment two devils leaped from the ground and with 
their axes struck Granville and his sister from be- 
hind. Black Hoof dropped behind his log the mo- 
ment he struck Dale. 

Ward remained standing, sheltered by the girl. 
But the two who had killed Granville and his sister 
forgot us in their lust to secure the scalps. I got 
one as he was kneeling on the man, and Cousin shot 
the other through the head before he could touch the 
woman. I shall never forget the terrible scream 
which burst from the lips of Patricia Dale. Then 
she went limp and her head sagged over Ward’s 
arms, and he began to walk backward with her to 
the forest. 

I ran to the door and Cousin stuck out his foot 
and tripped me, and my head hit against the logs, 
and for a minute confused me beyond the possibility 
of action. When I would have renewed my efforts 
to pursue and die in attempting the rescue of the girl 
Ward was dragging her into the woods. Cousin’s 
arm was around my neck, and as he pulled me back 
he passionately cried : 


2l8 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


“Will it help her to git killed? The ground’s 
alive with ’em! You can’t more’n show your head 
afore they’d have your hair!” 

I got to a loophole and looked out. Several guns 
banged and the bullets pattered into the logs. There 
was no sign of life in the valley beyond this scat- 
tering volley, however. Ward and the girl were 
gone. The dead Indian and dog were partly in view 
among the weeds beside the lick-block. The gown 
of the dead woman made a little patch of melancholy 
color against the green of the grass and ranker 
ground growth. Granville had been dragged behind 
some bushes to be scalped. I came near firing when 
I beheld two Shawnees making for the timber. 

“Fellers we potted,” murmured Cousin. “They’ve 
hitched cords to ’em an’ are draggin’ ’em to the 
woods so’s no one’ll git their hair.” 

From the Granville cabin a gun roared loudly; 
and an Indian, clawing at his bloody breast, shot up 
in the heart of a clump of bushes and pitched for- 
ward on his face. 

“Lawdy! But the Englisher must ’a’ used ’bout 
a pint o’ buckshot!” exclaimed Cousin admiringly. 
“Pretty smart, too! He traced the cord back to 
where th’ Injun was haulin’ on it, an’ trusted to his 
medicine to make the spreadin’ buckshot fetch some- 
thin’. Wish he had smoothbores an’ a few pounds 
o’ shot!” 

Yells of rage and a furious volley against the two 


IN ABB’S VALLEY 


219 


cabins evidenced how the enemy viewed the Eng- 
lishman’s success. Again the smoothbore roared 
and a handful of balls scoured another thicket. A 
warrior leaped from cover and started to run to the 
woods. Cousin shot him off his feet before he 
could make a rod. 

Our admiration for the smoothbore and its whole- 
sale tactics was beyond expression. The Indians, 
also, thoroughly appreciated its efficacy, and there 
was a general backward movement toward the 
woods. No savage showed himself except for a 
flash of bronze leg, or the flutter of a hand, too 
transient for even Cousin to take advantage of. 
The Englishman fired again, but flushed no game. 

“We oughter be goin’,” Cousin mused. “But the 
ridge behind us is still alive with ’em. Reckon we 
must wait till it gits dark.” 

“Wait till night? Oh, I can’t do that!” I cried. 

“Your gal may be skeered to death, but she ain’t 
been hurt any yet,” he encouraged. “She’s safe till 
they git her back to the towns. Black Hoof is too 
smart to hurt her now. If he gits into a tight corner 
afore he reaches the Ohio he’ll need her to buy an 
open path with. She ain’t in no danger s’long as 
he wants her on hand to swap if the settlers git him 
penned.” 

“No danger? And in the hands of that damned 
renegade !” 

“Catahecassa is boss o’ that band. Ward was 


220 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


only a spy. They may burn your gal when they git 
back on the Scioto where every one can enjoy it. 
But she won’t be hurt any this side o’ the Ohio. 
Our first job is to git clear o’ this cabin an’ valley. 
Then we must head those dogs off an’ do the next 
job right.” 

His words cleared my mind of madness. Instead 
of the dark forest, forty rods away, marking the 
end of everything, I need not entirely despair until 
the girl reached the Scioto. 

“They’ve hitched a rope to Dale an’ are draggin’ 
him to the woods. The damn fool ain’t dead yet. 
Black Hoof fetched him a crack with the flat of his 
ax, but they’ll roast him to a frizzle by ’n’ by if our 
medicine don’t fetch him out of it.” 

The man had been grossly mistaken and I pitied 
him. I wondered what he would think of the influ- 
ence of trade on red heathens at war when he 
regained his senses! Surely he would learn the 
torments of hell when he beheld his daughter a pris- 
oner. 

The cabin was like an oven and the sting of 
powder-smoke made our eyes water. Outside the 
birds were fluttering about their daily tasks. High 
among the fleecy cloud-bundles were dark specks 
which we knew to be turkey-buzzards, already at- 
tracted by the dead. For some time the only sign 
of the enemy’s presence was when three horses gal- 
loped down the valley, running from the savages in 


IN ABB’S VALLEY 


221 


the edge of the woods. As the animals drew near 
the cabins and showed an inclination to visit the 
lick-block a volley from the Indians sent one down. 
The other two dashed madly toward the Bluestone. 

Cousin studied the ridge back of the cabin and 
failed to discover any suggestion of the hidden foe. 

“Which ain’t no token they ain’t there,” he mut- 
tered. 

“If they hadn’t scared the horses we could have 
caught a couple !” I lamented. 

“We’d been shot off their backs afore we’d gone 
two rods,” assured my companion. “Let me show 
you.” 

With that he took a big gourd from the corner 
and painted a face on it with a piece of charcoal 
found in the fireplace. To a few small wooden 
pegs stuck in the top he made fast some long strings 
of tow, shredded out to resemble hair. Then he 
placed my hat on top of the gourd and the effeci 
was most grotesque. Yet from a distance it easily 
would be mistaken for a human face. 

It was a vast improvement on the old trick of 
hoisting a hat on a stick. His next maneuver was 
to enlarge one of the holes I had made in the roof. 
When he thrust his hands through the hole, as if 
about to draw himself up, he focused every savage 
eye on the back of the cabin roof. Through the 
opening he slowly pushed the gourd, topped by the 
hat and having long hair hanging down the sides. 


222 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


The decoy was barely in place before he was on 
the floor while a volley of lead and a flight of ar- 
rows rained against the roof. 

“I ’low that they’re still there,” he said. 

“They’ll wait till dark and then rush us.” 

“They’ll use fire-arrers first,” he corrected. “The 
Hoof has a poor stomick for losin’ more warriors. 
He’ll need lots o’ sculps an’ prisoners to make up 
for the men he’s lost. He’ll take no more chances. 
When it gits dark they’ll start a blaze on the roof. 
They’ll creep mighty close without our seein’ ’em. 
The minute we show ourselves they’ll be ready to 
jump us. The chief is reckonin’ to take us alive. 
The towns on the Scioto will need more’n one stake- 
fire to make ’em forgit what this trip to Virginia 
has cost ’em.” 

The business of waiting was most dreary. There 
was no water in the cabin, and the sweat from our 
hands would spoil a priming unless care was taken. 
At the end of this misery was almost certain cap- 
tivity, ended by torture. Cousin had the same 
thought for he spoke up and said : 

“I’ll live s’long’s there’s any show to even up the 
score, but I ain’t goin’ to be kept alive no three days 
over a slow fire just to make some fun for them 
damn beggars.” 

I watched the bar of sunlight slowly move over 
the rough puncheon floor. The time passed infer- 
nally slowly for men waiting to test a hopeless haz- 


IN ABB’S VALLEY 


223 


ard. By all logic the minutes should have been very 
precious and should have fairly flashed into eternity. 
The best we could reasonably wish for was death 
in combat, or self-inflicted. Yet we cursed the heat, 
the buzzing flies, the choking fumes of powder, the 
lack of water, and wished the time away. 

I wanted to open the door a bit for a breath of 
outside air. Cousin objected, saying: 

“We could do it, an’ there ain’t no Injuns near 
’nough to play us any tricks. But they’d see the 
door was open, even if only a crack, and they’d 
know we was gittin’ desperate, or sufferin’ a heap, 
an’ that would tickle ’em. I’m ag’in’ givin’ ’em 
even that bit of enjoyment. If we can make a break 
when it gits dark afore the fire-arrers begin lightin’ 
things up we’ll try for the Bluestone. If we could 
git clear o’ this damn bottle we’d stand a chance o’ 
makin’ our hosses.” 

I glanced down at the floor, and my heart tight- 
ened a bit. The bar of sunlight had vanished. 

“We’ve just ’bout come to it,” gravely remarked 
Cousin. “I ain’t no talkin’ cuss, but I’ll say right 
here that I sorter like you, Morris. If things could 
’a’ been different, an’ I could be more like other 
folks, I ’low we’d been good friends.” 

“We’re the best of friends, Shelby. As long as 
I can think I shall remember how you came with me 
into this trap to help rescue the girl.” 

“Shucks! Don’t be a fool!” he growled. “That 


224 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


ain’t nothin’. Once I bu’sted up a Mingo camp to 
git my dawg. They’d caught the critter an’ was 
cal’latin’ to sculp him alive. Got him free, too, 
an’ the damn pup was that stirred up by his 
feelin’s that he couldn’t tell who was his friends, an’ 
he chawed my thumb somethin’ cruel.” 

He stepped to the loophole, and after peering out 
mumbled : 

“Changin’ mighty smart.” 

I glanced out and the ridges were losing their out- 
lines and the valley was becoming blurred. Cousin 
mused. 

“It’ll be cornin’ right smart now. Don’t over- 
look anything.” 

We made a last examination of flints and prim- 
ings, and Cousin softly arranged the heavy door 
bar so it might be displaced with a single move- 
ment. He startled me by abruptly standing erect 
and cocking his head to one side and remaining mo- 
tionless. 

“The old Englishman !” he exclaimed. “He ain’t 
fired a shot, or tried to talk with us for a long time.” 

I went to the front end of the cabin and put my 
eye to the peephole. The small window showed 
black. I called to him several times and received 
no answer. There was only one conclusion. A 
chance ball through a loophole or a window had 
killed the old fellow. Cousin agreed to this. A 
signal at the mouth of the valley brought us to our 


IN ABB’S VALLEY 225 

toes. It was about to begin. The signal was 
answered from the ridge behind us. 

“They’ve put the stopper in the bottle,” Cousin 
whispered. “But here’s an idea. The upper cabin, 
where the Dales was, is empty. If we could sneak in 
there without bein’ seen we’d have the slimmest sort 
of a chance to duck back to the ridge while they 
was shootin’ their fire-arrers at this cabin. There 
would be a few minutes, when the first flames begin 
sh owin’, when every eye would be on this place. If 
we could only reach the flank o’ the ridge we’d be 
fools if we couldn’t dodge ’em.” 

This appealed to me as being excellent strategy. 
Knowing the Dales’ cabin was empty, the Indians 
would not think of paying it much attention at first. 
To leave our shelter and make the short distance 
would require darkness. Our greatest danger 
would be from the Indians on the ridge back of us. 
By this time they were lined up at the foot of the 
slope and were all ready to break from cover. 

In our favor was the Granville cabin, which would 
shelter us from the ridge for a bit of the perilous 
way. Already it was possible, I decided, to crawl 
the distance without being detected by the enemy 
across the valley. Cousin refused to run the risk, 
and argued. 

“Every minute gained now gives us that much 
more of a chance. The Injuns out front ain’t all 
across the valley any more. They begun creepin’ 


226 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


into the clearin’ the minute it begun growin’ dark. 
Reckon it’s time they l’arned who’s cooped up in 
here, so’s they won’t git too bold.” 

He removed the bar of the door and through the 
crevice sounded his terrible war-cry, the scream of 
a panther. It stabbed the dusk with ear-splitting 
intensity. 

“There! They’ll stop an’ count a dozen afore 
gittin’ too close,” he muttered as he softly replaced 
the bar. “They’ll lay mighty low an’ won’t bother 
to do much but watch the door. I ’low it’ll be hard 
work to crawl out without they guessin’ somethin’s 
wrong.” 

“Then let’s rip up the floor and dig a hole under 
the logs,” I suggested. 

“We’ll do that,” he quietly agreed. 

As cautiously as possible we removed several of 
the puncheon slabs next to the wall. The base logs 
were huge fellows and held the floor several feet 
from the ground. To excavate a hole under either 
of the four would have required more time than we 
believed we had to spare. Our plan threatened to 
be hopeless until Cousin explored the length of the 
log with his fingers and gave a little cry of delight. 
He found a hole already dug near the front end of 
the cabin. It had been the work of the dog. Work- 
ing with our hunting-knives we loosened the dirt 
and pawed it behind us and made it larger. At last 
Cousin pressed me back and ducked his head and 


IN ABB’S VALLEY 


227 


shoulders into the hole. Then he drew back and 
whispered : 

“I can git my head an’ shoulders through. ’Low 
I could squirm out o’ hell if I could git my shoulders 
through. I’ll go ahead an’ you pass out the rifles. 
Ready?” 

I pressed his hand. There followed a few mo- 
ments of waiting, then a handful of dirt fell into the 
hole and informed me my companion had squeezed 
clear of the log and that the ultimate test was to be 
faced. I passed the rifles, butts first, and felt them 
gently removed from my grasp. Working noise- 
lessly as possible I soon squirmed out into the re- 
freshing evening air and lay motionless. Cousin 
was ahead and already worming his way toward 
the third cabin. My outstretched hand touched the 
butt of my rifle, and I began creeping after my 
friend. 

I nearly suffocated in crawling by the opening 
between our cabin and the Granville cabin, for I 
scarcely ventured to breathe. It seemed as if any 
one within pistol-shot of me must hear the pounding 
of my heart. The silence continued, and at last 
I was hugging the ground at the end of the cabin 
and for the time sheltered from spying eyes at the 
foot of the ridge. 

A quavering cry rang out at the mouth of the 
valley. This time it was answered from the clear- 
ing on our right as well as from the ridge. The 


228 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


Indians had crept closer, just as Cousin had pre- 
dicted. 

Half a minute passed, then the signal sounded 
directly ahead of us, or from beyond the Dales’ 
cabin. The circle was completed. From the ridge 
soared a burning arrow. It fell short, landing be- 
hind the cabin we had vacated. As it gave off no 
light I surmised it went out on striking the ground. 

Cousin drew away from the end of the Granville 
cabin and was risking the second and last gap. I 
hurried a bit, fearing more arrows. As I came 
abreast of the door I wondered what had become of 
the Englishman. Either the night was playing a 
trick, or else the door was partly open. I reached 
out my hand to learn the truth, and touched a cold 
hand hanging limply over the threshold. 

My nerves jumped, but I mastered them by 
reasoning that the Englishman had been shot by a 
chance ball and had attempted to leave the cabin, 
thinking to gain our shelter and to die there. Death 
had overtaken him as he was opening the door. 
That it was the Englishman’s hand I had touched 
was evidenced by the shirt-sleeve, puckered in at 
the wrist. 

I released the poor hand and was resuming my 
way when a slight sound caused me to hold my 
breath. Then a heavy weight landed on my back, 
knocking the breath from my lungs with an explo- 
sive grunt. Next, the night was ripped from hori- 
zon to horizon with a jagged streak of red. 


CHAPTER IX 


DALE ESCAPES 

YY7HEN I recovered my senses I was being 
* * dragged over the ground by means of a cord 
around my chest and under my arms. My wrists 
were lashed together and my ankles were likewise 
secured. The first thing my eyes beheld were the 
red loopholes and window of the lower cabin, and 
the flames crawling through the two holes I had 
made in the roof. 

My capture had revealed our desertion of the 
cabin, and the Indians had lost no time in entering 
and firing it. Smoke and flames were pouring 
from the end window of the Granville cabin also. 
As the red tongues licked across the top of the 
doorway they threw into relief the arm and hand of 
the old Englishman still hanging over the threshold. 

My head felt as though it was cracked wide open 
and it throbbed most sickeningly. I managed to 
lift it a bit to escape further bruises as my captor 
roughly hauled me to the forest. The third cabin, 
the one occupied by the Dales, burst into flames as 
I was being yanked into the first fringe of bushes. 

229 


230 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


The valley was now brightly lighted, and my last 
view of it included the lick-block. One phase of a 
successful Indian raid was missing; there were no 
warriors madly dancing about the burning homes. 
Far up the ridge rang out the infuriated cry of a 
panther, and I knew it was fear of young Cousin’s 
deadly rifle that was keeping the savages under 
cover. 

“Let me stand up and walk,” I said in Shawnee. 

“Alive are you?” growled a white man’s voice in 
English. 

“You’ll be John Ward,” I said as some one lifted 
me to my feet. 

“I am Red Arrow, a Shawnee. And don’t you 
forget it.” 

“Where are the Dales?” I asked. 

“Keep your mouth shut!” he ordered. 

They untied my hands only to fasten them behind 
me. They shifted the waist-cord to my neck, and 
then released my feet. Some one walked ahead, 
pulling on the cord, and I followed as best I could 
to escape being strangled. On each side of me 
walked a warrior, invisible except as when we 
crossed a glade where the starlight filtered down. 
Ward walked behind me, and warned: 

“Any tricks and you’ll get my ax.” 

“You were in the cabin with the dead English- 
man ?” 

He chuckled softly and boasted : 


DALE ESCAPES 


231 


“I killed him. When you two were fighting 
fire I got my chance to steal down to the Dale cabin. 
Then it was easy to make the Granville cabin. The 
old fool thought I was one of you when he heard 
my voice, and drew the bar. I was inside and had 
his life before he knew he had made a mistake. I 
waited. Then you crawled along. Curse that 
damned young devil who yells like a panther! He 
was the one I wanted. I’d give a thousand of such 
as you to get his hair! But he got by the door 
without my hearing him. A little more, and you’d 
have passed, too.” 

There was much crashing and running through 
the bushes behind us, and occasionally I could make 
out dark shapes hurrying by. These were the war- 
riors who had fired the cabins, and now they were 
in haste to leave the spot. Owing to their fear of 
Cousin they dared not leave the valley except as they 
did so under cover. We made good time through 
the woods, however, although more than once my 
gasping cry warned Ward, or one of the savages at 
my side, that I was being choked to death. 

As a premature demise was not on their program 
the cord was quickly loosened each time, and the 
man ahead warned to be more careful. These par- 
tial strangulations resulted from the fellow’s anxiety 
to escape from the neighborhood of the double-bar- 
rel rifle. On reaching the Bluestone we halted 
while the savages collected their horses. From the 


232 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


few words exchanged I estimated that half the band 
was mounted. Without building a fire or eating 
we started up the Bluestone. Neither Black Hoof 
nor the Dales were with our party when we halted 
at daybreak. We paused only long enough to bolt 
some half-cooked deer-meat. I asked for the trader 
and his daughter, and Ward laughed and shook 
before my face the scalps he had taken in the Gran- 
ville cabin. Two of them were pitiably small 

“You scalp other men’s kills,” I observed. 

“You’ll not say that when I scalp you.” 

“What does Dale now think of his Indian 
friends?” 

This seemed to amuse him tremendously, and he 
laughed like a white man. 

“He doesn’t seem to know what has happened,” 
he finally replied with much relish. “He stares at 
us, then at the girl, as if trying to understand.” 

“What about the girl?” 

“That’s enough. Keep still,” he warned, and 
made a threatening gesture with his ax. 

My hands, which had been released long enough 
for me to eat, were trussed up again. My rough 
usage and the travel had worn on me, but I had no 
desire to rest so long as Patricia Dale was to be 
found. My captors also had a definite plan — one 
that demanded haste. By daylight I perceived by 
the signs that the greater number of the band had 
gone ahead, probably under the lead of Black Hoof. 


DALE ESCAPES 


233 


Unless the Dales had been butchered in the woods 
they must be with the chief ; and I could not believe 
they were dead. They would be too valuable as 
hostages should the settlers gather in force to block 
the Shawnees’ return to the Ohio. Those of the 
Indians who had horses, with the exception of two, 
rode off. One of the mounted men to remain was 
Ward, who came behind me. The other was the 
Indian holding the cord. 

It was plain that every savage in the band was 
eager to advance with all possible haste, nor was it 
fear of Cousin that was now driving them. Finally 
my aching head understood it all; the Howard’s 
Creek settlement was to be attacked and the sav- 
ages afoot were afraid they would arrive too late 
to participate. 

On our left rose the wall of Great Flat Top Moun- 
tain, a short chain, in reality a continuation of Tug 
Ridge. On the right rose ridge after ridge of the 
Alleghanies, punctuated by Peter’s Mountain, where 
New River burst through the wall in its quest for 
the Ohio. A wild land, and yet birds, bees and deer 
were here, and the soil was ripe for happy homes. 

I managed to keep up until after midday, when 
my legs suddenly refused to carry me farther. I 
told Ward to tomahawk me if he wished, but that 
I must rest before moving another step. There was 
no question as to his inclination, for his brown hand 
fondled his ax most longingly. He dismounted and 


2 34 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


boosted me on to his horse. The rest of the day was 
covered with me riding first Ward’s and then the 
savage’s animal. 

We camped at dusk that night, and I was too 
exhausted to swallow more than a few mouthfuls of 
food before falling asleep. Before sunrise we were 
up and hurrying through the gray mists and revers- 
ing the route Cousin and I had followed on travel- 
ing to the valley. I recognized several of the camps 
where the Dales and Ward had halted when the 
brute was leading them into the death-trap. 

“You nearly got me by dropping the girl’s moc- 
casin in the mountains,” I informed him. 

The abruptness of the accusation took him off his 
guard. With a wide grin he said : 

“Stole it from her just before we entered the set- 
tlement. Saw Hughes striking into the hills and 
planned to catch him. But he got too far ahead for 
me to ride around him. Dogged him until he met 
you, then rode back and laid my trap. Hughes was 
the man I was after. His hair would count for a 
dozen scalps like yours.” 

“But you didn’t care to try a shot unless it could 
be from behind and sure to kill,” I taunted. 

“You’ll pay a high price for that,” he quietly as- 
sured me. “The chief says you are to be brought in 
alive. We will soon see how brave you are with the 
girl looking on. Men should be very brave men 
when their squaws are watching.” 


DALE ESCAPES 


235 


I was afoot and walking at his side. I lowered 
my head and tried to butt him from the saddle. He 
kicked me in the chest and the warrior yanked on 
the cord and threw me down on my face and all but 
strangled me. After that Ward and I had no more 
words. He rode either ahead, or some distance 
behind, leaving one of the Indians to walk at my 
heels. I have no doubt he did this to avoid any 
temptation to brain me. I lost track of time, for we 
traveled far into the night when the footing was 
good. We snatched a few hours’ sleep when abso- 
lutely necessary and fed indifferently. When I 
could walk no farther I was placed on one of the 
two horses. I hoped that Cousin in escaping from 
Abb’s Valley had taken our horses- with him; and 
I prayed he would reach Howard’s Creek ahead of 
Black Hoof. 

At last we came to the outskirts of an Indian 
camp, which I estimated to be within less than half a 
mile of the creek settlement. A dozen warriors 
swarmed forward to greet us, welcoming me with 
exaggerated courtesy. While they were thus mock- 
ing me Black Hoof appeared, moving with great 
dignity, and dispersing my tormentors with a ges- 
ture. 

I was led into the camp and my cord made fast 
to a tree. There was no air of triumph about the 
place. A warrior reclining on a pile of boughs and 
nursing a shattered shoulder suggested a futile at- 


236 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


tack on the cabins. I glanced about for a display 
of fresh scalps and rejoiced at beholding none. 

The Indians stared at me malevolently, but of- 
fered me no abuse. Ward proudly flourished the 
hair he had retrieved from the Granville cabin, and 
the trophies were soon fastened to a tall pole and 
paraded around the camp, after which demonstra- 
tion the pole was stuck upright in the ground. 

It required a second examination of the place to 
locate Dale. Like myself he was tied to a tree with 
sufficient length of cord to permit him to lie down. 
His face was heavy with unspeakable horror. When 
he met my gaze he did not seem to recognize me at 
first. Then he muttered : 

“You, too!” 

My heart ached when I failed to discover any 
trace of Patricia. Before I could question the trader, 
Ward yanked me to my feet and turned me about, 
and I found myself looking into the eyes of Black 
Hoof. 

“The young man made a very brave fight,” he 
said. 

“It is sad to know a skunk and not a Shawnee 
warrior captured me,” I replied. 

Ward glared murder at me. Black Hoof gave 
him a warning glance, and informed me : 

“Red Arrow is a Shawnee warrior. Very brave. 
Very cunning. He will help us take the cabins on 
the creek.” 


DALE ESCAPES 237 

“You have tried once?” I asked, glancing at the 
man with the broken shoulder. 

The chiefs brows contracted. 

“Some of my young men were very foolish,” he 
replied. “When Catahecassa tries, the first time 
will be the last.” 

From the direction of the settlement came the 
scream of a panther, and at the sound the camp 
seemed to stir uneasily. With a fiery glance at 
the warriors Black Hoof gave an order, and a score 
of men glided into the forest. To me he quietly 
said : 

“There was a panther’s whelp in the little valley 
we did not get. The Shawnees would dance his 
scalp ahead of all the hair growing in any of these 
valleys. He rode to the settlement ahead of me. 
But we shall get them now. We shall get him. 
Then we will see if his war-cry is strong when he 
feels fire.” 

“Where is the white woman? Did you kill her?” 
I asked, and I had to fight myself to keep my voice 
from shaking. 

Without deigning to answer he turned and walked 
over to Dale. At almost the same moment Patricia 
and Shelby Cousin’s sister entered the camp. Pa- 
tricia walked ahead, the Cousin girl a few feet be- 
hind her. I forgot the cord and eagerly started to 
join her. 

Ward snarled like an animal and jerked on the 


238 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


cord and pulled me violently back. Patricia glanced 
in our direction, and I saw her hand fly to her heart 
as she stared at me with lips parted. Black Hoof 
noticed this bit of drama, and wheeling about, he 
harshly commanded: 

“Let Red Arrow remember I am chief. If the 
white man would talk to the white woman do not 
stop him. See that his hands are well tied and put 
hobbles on his legs.” 

“If I had my way with you!” hissed Ward. 

An Indian slipped the cord from the tree and with 
it trailing behind me I hurried to the girl. She 
dropped on a log, her face a white mask of terror. 
Cousin’s sister remained a few paces behind her. 
Her face was expressionless, but she did not remove 
her gaze from Patricia. Perhaps Patsy was the 
first white woman she had seen whose freshness 
suggested her own youth. Recognizing my desire 
to talk with the prisoner she withdrew, keeping in 
sight but out of hearing. 

“At least they have not tied you,” I said. 

“I go and come as I will,” was the listless answer. 

“With the woman to watch you?” 

“Not if I want to be alone.” 

“You mean you are free to go and come 
unwatched?” I demanded. 

She nodded her head. 

“Then why haven’t you tried to make the settle- 
ment? It is near. Listen. Shelby Cousin is here. 


DALE ESCAPES 


239 


The Indians can’t afford the time it will take to cap- 
ture the place. Walk along into the woods. Go 
due east. By God’s grace I believe you can make 
it!” 

“Basdel, you forget,” she sorrowfully reproached. 
“You forget my father is here. That is why they 
give me my freedom.” 

“He would rejoice and thank God if you would 
do as I say.” 

“But the Indian woman with the blue eyes has 
told me in English that if I run away they will hurt 
him terribly.” 

Poor child ! As if her presence could save Ericus 
Dale from dying the death once Black Hoof found 
time to indulge in his favorite pastime. I vehe- 
mently begged her to flee, promising all sorts of 
absurd things if she would but do so, even to assur- 
ing her I would effect her father’s release. 

She slowly shook her head, tempted not the least 
by my pleas. 

“Even the Indians know me better than that. 
And to think we trusted them! Oh, Basdel, it 
doesn’t seem possible! You were right. Father 
was wrong. God help him! And now they have 
taken you!” 

“All will be well yet,” I faltered. 

“Yes, all will be well,” she gently said. “All will 
be well, when we are dead and at peace.” 

“Patsy! Patsy!” I begged. “Don’t give up 


240 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


hope. Don’t lose your courage! Why, there's a 
dozen chances for us to fool these devils.” 

She patted my tied hands, and murmured : 

“You’re a good boy, Basdel. You were patient 
when I abused you. You told me the truth. I am 
out of place out here. If I were a pioneer woman 
I could help you plan to escape, but I am only a silly 
fool from over the mountains. I am absolutely 
helpless. But you’ve been good to me, Basdel. You 
followed me into that horrible valley. You were 
caught because you tried to help us. Oh, the shame 
of it! The hideous cruelty of it! That you were 
caught — Basdel, I pray my last thought will be 
about your goodness to me. Just that.” 

She was at the limit of her endurance and I 
backed away and Cousin’s sister glided forward. I 
flogged my mind for a scheme of escape which 
would include her; her father, if possible. But it 
was as she had said; she was no pioneer woman, 
resourceful and daring. The Shawnees saw her 
helplessness, else they never would have allowed her 
the freedom of the camp and surrounding woods. 

They knew she would never leave her father, and 
that she lacked the border woman’s daring initiative 
so necessary in any attempt to free him. As I was 
casting about for some plan to save her Black Hoof 
glided to my side and took me by the arm and led 
me toward the tree where Dale was lying. 

This closer inspection of the trader revealed how 


DALE ESCAPES 


241 


fearfully he had suffered in his mind. The flesh of 
his strong face hung in folds as if his skin had sud- 
denly become many sizes too large for him. His 
eyes had retreated deeper into the sockets, and his 
thick lips, once so firm and domineering, were loose 
and flabby. Black Hoof stirred him contemptuously 
with his foot. Dale dragged himself to a sitting pos- 
ture and began shivering as if suffering from ague. 

“Oh, my God, Morris !” he groaned. 

“The Pack-Horse-Man can save his life,” sen- 
tentiously began Black Hoof. 

“My daughter?” gasped Dale, rising on his knees. 

“He shall save his daughter’s life,” added the 
chief. 

Dale moistened his lips and tried to recover some 
of his old spirit. 

“Never mind, Morris. Give me a little time. I’ll 
get us all out of this fix. They’re angry now. When 
they’ve had time to think they’ll be reasonable. If 
they kill me, they’ll kill their trade with the whites.” 
It was the first time I ever heard him pronounce the 
word without stressing it. 

Black Hoof glowered at the miserable man fero- 
ciously and said : 

“You will go to the edge of the clearing with my 
warriors. You will speak to the settlers and tell 
them they shall save their lives if they put down 
their guns. After they put down their guns you and 
your daughter shall go free.” 


242 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


The picture of Abb’s Valley and the result of his 
trusting in the Shawnees’ promises must have 
flashed across the unhappy man’s mind. He sank, 
feebly moaning: 

“No, no ! Not that ! The blood of the Granvilles 
— the little children — is on me. Kill me, but I’ll 
lead no more into your trap.” 

These were brave words even if brokenly voiced. 
But Black Hoof heard with grim amusement in his 
small black eyes. 

“You weak-hearted dog!” he hissed. “So you tell 
Catahecassa what he will and what he will not, do. 
Ho! You fat white man who always planned to 
cheat the Indians in a trade. You fill your ears 
against Catahecassa’s words? Ho! Then you are 
a brave man. The Shawnees have been blind not to 
see your brave heart. Now, white trader, hear my 
talk. You will do as Catahecassa says, or you will 
be tied to a tree and your daughter shall be put to 
the torture before your eyes.” 

With a terrible cry Dale fell over on his side and 
remained unconscious. There was a second shriek, 
and the girl was pushing Black Hoof aside as she 
hastened to kneel by her father. The chief darted 
a glance of admiration at her for her display of 
courage. The girl was blind to our presence as 
she fondled and petted the stricken man until he 
opened his eyes. Black Hoof was pleased to have 
her there as a means of breaking down the trader’s 


DALE ESCAPES 


243 


will. Leaning over her shoulder to stare down into 
the terrified eyes of his victim the chief warned : 

“Unless the settlers give themselves up it shall be 
as I have said. It must be before the sun goes 
down. Tell her all I have said.” 

With that he dragged me back to my tree. For 
a few minutes the chiefs horrible threat dulled my 
mind to the point of stupidity. He waited for me to 
collect my thoughts. At last I managed to ask : 

“What you said back there was a trick of course ? 
You would never torture the daughter of the Pack- 
Horse-Man ?” 

“Unless he does as told she must die/’ he calmly 
assured me. “She will die soon anyway. She is 
not strong enough to live our life, like the blue- 
eyed squaw over there.” And he glanced toward 
Cousin’s sister. “Her children would be neither 
red nor white. They would have squaw-hearts. If 
the trader does not speak words that will bring the 
settlers from their cabins with empty hands she shall 
be tortured until he does speak.” 

I do not remember falling, yet I found myself on 
the ground, and Black Hoof had departed. In his 
place stood Ward, staring at me curiously. 

“You went down as if hit with an ax,” he 
grunted. 

“My legs are weak from hard travel and poor 
food,” I said. 

Patricia Dale passed quite close to us, a gourd of 


244 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


water in her hands. She was carrying it to her 
father. Ward exclaimed in English : 

“What a woman !’ 

His brawny figure seemed to dilate and he made a 
queer hissing noise as he looked after her. Turning 
to me he hoarsely said: 

“I was born white. It’s her blood that calls me. 
When I saw her in Salem I said I would have her 
for my squaw if I could get her and her fool of a 
father into the mountains. ,, 

My mental paralysis lifted. 

“Is she promised to you?” I asked. 

“I am to have any two prisoners to do with as I 
like,” he answered. “Catahecassa said that when 
I started to enter the villages beyond the mountains 
to get news. There was little chance of bringing 
any whites back, but if I did I was to have two of 
them.” 

“Then you had better remind your chief of his 
promise,” I warned. “He says he will torture the 
girl before her father’s eyes if the father does not 
help in betraying the settlers.” 

“Ugh! I have his promise. He dare not break 
it.” 

The girl would kill herself before submitting to 
Ward’s savage caresses. She would go mad if 
forced to witness the torture of her father. I had 
seized upon Ward’s passion as a means of gaining 
a bit more time. If he could successfully claim the 


DALE ESCAPES 


245 


girl then she must be rescued from him. But 
viewed from any angle I could find nothing but 
horrors. 

Release by death would be very kind. If any 
harm were suffered by the girl I should lose my 
reason; my life, if God were merciful. No longer 
did our time of grace extend to the Scioto villages. 
At any moment our little destinies might come to a 
fearful ending. In my soul I railed at the curse of 
it. Such a little way to go, and so much pain and 
sorrow. 

Ward left me and strode up to the chief. They 
talked rapidly, and I could read from Ward’s mien 
that he was very angry. When he returned to me 
he was in a rare rage. 

“Catahecassa dodges by saying you and the trader 
are the two prisoners I must take. He says he will 
burn the girl unless the trader makes the talk as 
told. If I can find a way of capturing the settlers 
the girl will be given to me in place of either you 
or her father.” 

“I don’t want to be your prisoner,” I said. 

“I do not believe you do,” he agreed. “But I 
would take you if I did not need the trader. If the 
girl refuses to become my squaw then I will build a 
little fire on Dale’s back. That will make her accept 
my belts.” 

He left me with that thought in my mind. On 
the one hand the girl was to be utilized in forcing 


246 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


Dale to betray the settlement. On the other, the 
trader was to be used to make the girl submit to the 
renegade. I could not imagine a more horrible situa- 
tion. I was still wallowing deep in my hell when 
the camp became very active. Dale was lifted to his 
feet and his cords were removed. 

The time had come for Black Hoof to try him as 
a decoy. There remained a good hour of light. 
Patricia, not understanding, yet fearing the worst, 
hovered about her father, her eyes wildly staring 
and her whole appearance denoting a weakening of 
her reason. As they started to lead her father into 
the woods she attempted to follow him, and Black 
Hoof pushed her back. Cousin’s sister spoke up, 
saying : 

“I will keep her.” 

The warriors disappeared in the direction of the 
settlement. The two women left the camp on the 
opposite side. Ward went along with the Indians, 
and I knew this was my golden opportunity to 
escape. Before I could make a beginning at free- 
ing my hands a noose fell over my head and clutched 
at my throat. The guards were taking no chances. 

Great mental anguish is accompanied by no clarity 
of thought and graves no connected memories on 
the mind. I know I suffered, but there are only 
fragments of recollections covering that black pe- 
riod of waiting. 

I have a clear picture of the warrior holding the 


DALE ESCAPES 


247 


end of the cord calling for some one to bring a 
gourd of water. I do not remember drinking, but 
as later I found the front of my shirt soaked I as- 
sume the water was for me. Coherent memory 
resumes with the noise the warriors made in return- 
ing to the camp. I shall never forget their appear- 
ance as they emerged from the undergrowth. Black 
Hoof walked ahead. Close behind him came two 
warriors dragging Dale. 

I was amazed to behold Patricia in the proces- 
sion. She was leaning on Lost Sister’s arm, and 
there was a lump on her forehead as though she had 
been struck most brutally. Then came the warriors 
and Ward. Dale was roughly thrown to the 
ground. Several men began trimming the branches 
from a stout sapling. Others became busy search- 
ing the fallen timber for dry wood. 

Ward walked over to me and kicked me in the 
side. I must have groaned aloud, for he com- 
manded : 

“Shut up ! I’m ripe for a killing.” 

Matters had gone against his liking. He played 
with his ax nervously, his baleful gaze darting about 
the camp. I waited and at last his race heritage 
compelled him to talk, and he commenced : 

“The old man was scared into doing what the 
chief told him to do. He would not at first, and 
the men were sent to bring the girl along. When 
he faced her he made a noise like a sheep bleating. 


248 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


Then he ran to the clearing and began his talk. 
The girl heard his words. She broke away and 
ran into sight of the cabins and screamed for them 
not to listen, that it was a trap. Black Hoof struck 
her with the flat of his ax. Now he swears he’ll 
roast the fool.” 

“She is your prisoner!” I cried. 

“He says she must bum.” 

“There must be some way, something you can 
do!” I wildly insisted, my only thought being to 
spare her the immediate danger. 

“I want her for my squaw bad enough to get her 
if I can,” he growled. “But if I’m to think of any 
plan I must be quick. They’ve got the stake nearly 
ready.” 

He walked to where the warriors were collecting 
small fuel from between the fallen trees. One of 
them hauled a hollow maple log out of the debris 
and threw it to one side as being too heavy for a 
quick fire. Ward halted and rested a foot on it and 
bowed his head. Next he began tapping it with his 
tomahawk. His actions attracted the attention of 
the men, and Black Hoof asked : 

“What does Red Arrow think is in the log? A 
snake ?” 

Ward startled the savages, and also me, by curtly) 
replying : 

“He sees a white man’s cannon in the log. The 
fort holds all the settlers on the creek. Its walls are 


DALE ESCAPES 


249 


stout. If they can be broken down the Shawnees 
will take many scalps and prisoners. It will be an 
easy victory. Black Hoofs name will be repeated 
far beyond Kaskaskia and the Great Lakes in the 
North. He will be given many new war-names.” 

Black Hoofs eyes glittered as he pictured the 
glory and prestige the hollow log might confer upon 
him. He examined the log carefully and perceived 
only that it was hollow. 

“Have you medicine to make it into a cannon ?” 
he asked. 

“I have big medicine. Before it will work for 
me I must be given the white squaw. There must 
be no taking back of the gift. If the medicine-can- 
non does not give the settlers into our hands still the 
white squaw must be mine to do with as I will.” 

Black Hoof took some minutes to ponder over 
this proposition. He could only see a hollow log. 
Ward's intellect permitted him to see greater pos- 
sibilities. While he waited for the chief to make a 
decision he examined the maple more thoroughly, 
and smiled quietly. 

Black Hoof at last said : 

“Catahecassa gives the white woman to the Red 
Arrow. Tell your medicine to make the big gun 
shoot.” 

Ward was exultant. To the wondering savages 
he explained : 

“It must be bound tight with much rawhide. 


250 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


Small stones must be packed tight in the butt-end. 
I will make a hole for the priming. Then we will 
draw it to the clearing and load it with powder and 
rocks.” 

This simple expedient, superior to the best plans 
of the Indians, was greeted with yells of triumph. 
The chief said: 

“Red Arrow is a medicine-man.” 

The wooden tube was reinforced under Ward’s 
directions. This done, the savages danced and 
whooped about the grotesque cannon for some min- 
utes. Ward stood with folded arms, his gaze gloat- 
ing as it rested on the girl, and haughty with pride 
as he observed Black Hoof’s respectful bearing. 
Coming back to me he said : 

“You wanted that woman. You will die among 
the Shawnees. You showed you wanted her when 
you followed her into that valley. Her father spoke 
of you and by his words I knew you wanted her. 
Now I have her.” 

The girl came forward, attracted by Ward’s 
speech to me, although she could understand none of 
it. She drew aside in passing the renegade and 
dropped on her knees at my side. 

“What do they plan? What will they do with 
me?” her dry lips demanded. 

Ward, enraged by her show of aversion, seized 
her by the shoulder, ripping the cloth, and dragged 
her to her feet, and informed her: 


DALE ESCAPES 


251 


“Catahecassa ordered his men to burn you. T 
made him give you to me. You are my woman. 
You are lucky I am not a red man.” 

“No! No! I’ll burn, you monster! I’ll burn a 
hundred times,” she panted. And she struck her 
hand into his face, whereat the savages shouted in 
merriment. 

I believed he would kill her then and there, for 
he groaned aloud from rage and raised his ax over 
his head. 

“Strike me!” she begged, facing the uplifted ax 
unflinchingly; and although not of the border she 
displayed the fine courage of the Widow McCabe 
and other frontier women. 

With a whimpering, bestial note Ward managed 
to say: 

“No! You shall live, and many times beg me to 
kill you. But you shall still live till I trade you to 
some red hunter.” 

“I will kill myself some way before you can harm 
me !” she defied. 

Ward slowly lowered his ax and began chuckling. 
He told her, pointing to me : 

“This man. He loved you. He was a fool. I 
say was because his life is behind him. It is some- 
thing that is finished, a trace followed to the end. 
He is a dead man as he lies there. He loved you. I 
believe you loved him. He is my prisoner. Now you 
can guess why I know you will not harm yourself.” 


252 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


I knew. She was suffering too much to reason 
clearly. But he was eager to help her to understand. 
He amplified by explaining : 

“It will be for you to say if he is to be tortured. 
He is young and strong. We could keep him alive 
many days after the fire began to burn him. It will 
be a fine game to see whom you love the better, 
yourself or him. You will be free to go about the 
camp. But this man will be watched all the time. 
After we take the fort to-night you will come to me 
and ask to be my woman. 

“I had planned to take your father for my second 
prisoner. My medicine tells me to take this man as 
he will live longer. Remember; you will ask to be 
my squaw. That sapling was trimmed for you; it 
will do for this man. You will come to me, or he 
goes to the stake. Now, go!” 

And he reached out his hand and sent her spin- 
ning and reeling toward her father. 

“You dog! Set me free, empty-handed, and you 
take a knife and ax, and I will show the Shawnees 
what a poor dog you are,” I told him in Shawnee. 

But he was not to be tempted into any violence 
just now. He mocked : 

“You are something to be watched and guarded. 
When my new wife is ugly to me I will order you 
to the fire. Then she will be kind and you will be 
kept alive. Some time you will go to the fire. 
When I get tired of her and wish a new wife.” 


DALE ESCAPES 


253 


Patricia crawled to her father and laid her head 
on his breast. No one gave her any heed except as 
the Cousin girl walked by her several times, watch- 
ing her with inscrutable eyes. The Shawnees were 
impatient to try their new cannon. 

At Ward’s suggestion Black Hoof sent some of 
his warriors to make a feint on the east side of the 
fort, so that the cannon could be hurried forward 
and mounted across a log while the garrison’s atten- 
tion was distracted. It was now dusk in the woods 
although the birds circling high above the glade 
caught the sunlight on their wings. The clearing 
would now be in the first twilight shadows, and 
Black Hoof gave his final orders. 

Acting on Ward’s command two warriors fell 
upon me and fastened cords to my wrists and ankles 
and staked me out in spread-eagle style, and then 
sat beside me, one on each side. Half a dozen of 
the older men remained in the camp. Dale was 
mumbling something to the girl and she rose as if 
at his bidding. 

The Cousin girl glided forward and in English 
asked what she wanted. It was Dale who told her, 
asking for water in Shawnee. She motioned for 
Patricia to remain where she was and in a few 
minutes brought water in a gourd, and some ven- 
ison. Patricia drank but would eat nothing. 

The Cousin woman tried to feed Dale, and suc- 
ceeded but poorly. I asked for food and water, and 


254 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


one of them brought a gourd and some meat. They 
lifted my head so I might drink and fed me strips 
of smoked meat, but they would not release my 
hands. 

After a time we heard much shouting and the fir- 
ing of many guns. This would be the mock attack, 
I judged. It increased in volume, this firing, until 
I feared that what had been started as a feint was 
being pushed forward to a victory. 

Suddenly the firing dropped away and only the 
yelling continued. This would mean the savages 
had succeeded in rushing their wooden cannon close 
enough to do damage. 

Every Indian left in the camp, including my two 
guards, were now standing listening eagerly for the 
voice of the cannon. It came, a loud explosion that 
dwarfed all rifle-fire any of us had ever heard. 
With screams of joy the guard began dancing about 
me and the older men danced around the Dales. 
They went through all the grotesque attitudes and 
steps which they use in their pantomimes of great 
victories. 

This savage play was quickly stilled, however, as 
groans of pain and shouts of furious anger came to 
us. Now the cheering was that of white voices only. 
There was the noise of many feet hurrying back to 
the camp. Black Hoof came through the bushes 
first, and only the dusk saved my head from being 
split, as with a howl he threw his ax at me. Then 


DALE ESCAPES 255 

came Ward, staggering like a drunken man and 
clawing at his left shoulder. 

The full force of the catastrophe was revealed 
when four broken forms of dead warriors were hur- 
ried into the little opening, followed by a dozen 
braves bearing wounds, which would appall a town- 
dweller. Ward’s medicine had lied to them. The 
cannon had burst and had scattered its charge of 
stones among the Shawnees. One of the corpses 
had been beheaded by a piece of rock. 

Several warriors rushed toward the Dales ; others 
ran to me. 

“Stop!” roared Black Hoof. “Do not touch the 
prisoners !” 

Some one lighted a fire. Other fires sprang up 
until the glade was well illumined. Black Hoof sent 
some of the younger men to scout the creek so the 
camp might not be surprised by a sally. To the 
warriors remaining the chief announced : 

“We must march for the Ohio. Bad medicine has 
dogged us for many sleeps. I will make a feast to 
my medicine and will tell you what it says shall be 
done with the prisoners.” 

“That man and that woman are my prisoners!” 
hoarsely cried Ward. 

“They were your prisoners while we believed your 
medicine was strong. Now that we know your 
medicine is weak and foolish they belong to all the 
Shawnees. Red Arrow’s medicine is bad at heart. 


256 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


It told him to make a big gun. Four of my war- 
riors are dead. Many are hurt. It will take blood 
to cover the bodies of the dead. Red Arrow has 
no prisoners until he goes and catches them. ,, 

Ward pulled his ax and limped toward me. No 
warrior made an effort to stop him. But Black 
Hoof reminded: 

“When the Red Arrow is no longer a Shawnee 
he will be tied and left at the edge of the settlement. 
The prisoners are not to be harmed until my med- 
icine directs.” 

Ward halted. He was close enough for me to 
see that while he had escaped a wound from the 
flying stones his shoulder was blown full of powder. 
The sweat streamed down his face and intimated 
something of the agony he was suffering. 

“Black Hoof is a great warrior and a mighty 
chief!” he said huskily. “But Red Arrow’s med- 
icine is weak because it has not been fed. Only 
blood will make it strong. Let this man die before 
we break our camp.” And he stirred me with his 
foot. 

“The prisoners belong to the Shawnees. My 
medicine may whisper to kill one of them* but the 
warriors in sound of my voice must decide. Those 
who would see one of the three die show the ax.” 

Almost as soon as he had spoken the air was filled 
with spinning axes, ascending to the boughs and 
then falling to be deftly caught, each ax by its 
owner. 


DALE ESCAPES 257 

“It is good/’ said the chief. “My medicine shall 
pick the prisoners to die.” 

The explosion of the wooden cannon and the 
chiefs ruling that we were no longer Ward’s pris- 
oners appealed to me as a reprieve. At least the girl 
was snatched from Ward’s clutches. But the unan- 
imous vote that one of us must die threw me back 
on the rack. 

It was inconceivable that Patricia Dale should 
thus die. And yet I had had an earnest of the 
devil’s ferocity. East of the mountains I could not 
have imagined a hand ever being raised against her. 
And I had seen her buffeted and struck down this 
day. Therefore, I did comprehend the inconceiv- 
able. 

I called out to the chief : 

“Catahecassa, listen to a white medicine, for the 
red medicine is far away or else is asleep. If the 
white woman is harmed you will shed tears of 
blood before you reach your Scioto towns. The 
settlers are swarming in to head you off. You have 
no time to spend in torturing any prisoner. 

“But had you many sleeps of time it would be bad 
for you to harm the white girl. If you harm her 
you will have nothing to trade for an open path to 
the river. If you are wise in war, as your enemies 
say you are, you will guard her carefully at least 
until you make your villages above the Ohio.” 

The chief’s eyes shifted uneasily, but his voice 
was ominous as he tersely advised: 


258 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


“The white man had better ask his strong med- 
icine to keep him from the fire. One of the pris- 
oners shall roast this night. I have said it.” 

He had not liked my words as they set his super- 
stitions to working, but it would never do for him 
to bow before the threats of a white medicine. So 
he remained inexorable in his determination to cov- 
er his dead with a white victim. 

His raid into Virginia had been disastrous even 
though he could count the four Grisdols, the seven 
men, women and children in Abb’s Valley in his 
death score. And he had taken three prisoners. 
Doubtless there were other victims at the fire I had 
seen when on the Cheat. But the price he had paid 
for these various kills and us three prisoners was 
too heavy. 

Every Indian slain had been a prime fighting 
man, one it would take years of training to replace. 
After counting his losses in the mountains about 
the Grisdol clearing, the warriors killed in Abb’s 
Valley, and now his losses here at Howard’s Creek, 
the score was distinctly against him. No matter 
how mighty and famous a chief may be, he will 
surely and quickly lose his following if disaster dogs 
his war-paths. 

So I could understand Black Hoof’s mental atti- 
tude. He attributed his misfortunes to his weaken- 
ing medicine. Let the cost be ever so dear he must 
strengthen that medicine; and he firmly believed a 


DALE ESCAPES 259 

human sacrifice would be the most acceptable offer- 
ing he could make. 

“Bring that man over to the fire,” he directed, 
pointing to me. 

My wrist-cords were loosed, my ankles were fast- 
ened only with a spancel, and strong hands jerked 
me to my feet. Taking short steps I advanced to 
where the girl lay with her head on her father’s 
breast. 

Black Hoof selected a charred stick from the fire 
and stood staring at us, his eyes blank as though he 
did not see us. His warriors watched him with 
much awe. His spirit was far away up in the moun- 
tains communing with his medicine. He was asking 
his manito which of the three victims would be most 
acceptable. 

Ward stood behind him, his lean face working in 
helpless rage for fear the girl would be the choice, 
thereby costing him a new wife. I felt deathly sick, 
physically sick, fearing she was marked for death, 
fearing she was reserved for worse than death. 

Suddenly Black Hoof began shivering, then threw 
back his head and for a moment stared about him 
as if to collect his scattered senses. Reaching down 
he pulled the girl from her father. She had 
swooned and was at least spared these few minutes 
of awful dread. The charred stick hovered over 
her white face, then was withdrawn and darted at 


mine. 


26 o 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


Instinctively I closed my eyes, but as the stick 
failed to leave its mark I opened them and beheld 
Dale had been chosen: A black smooch extended 
from the tip of his nose to the roots of his hair, and 
was bisected by another mark across the bridge of 
his nose, and extending to his ears. 

“Paint that man black,” Black Hoof ordered. 

Dale was very composed. He knew the worst. 
Perhaps he believed his death would save the girl. 
In a steady voice he said to me : 

“Morris, I am sorry for you. Only God knows 
how I feel about Pat. Pve been worse than a fool. 
Don’t tell her when she wakes up. Get the Cousin 
woman to take her out of sight. It will be very 
hard but I will try to go through it like a man.” 

“If there is anything I could do !” I cried. 

He shook his head and threw it back and his lips 
were drawn tight. 

“I am to blame. It’s best this way. You came 
after me to help me. That was good and foolish 
of you. Pray God she will be spared. Pray God 
you will be spared. They’ll be satisfied with my 
death for a while. I think I shall go through it 
very well.” 

They pulled me away and fell to rubbing the 
unfortunate man’s face and neck with charcoal. 
Cousin’s sister with a magnificent show of strength 
gathered the unconscious girl in her arms and 
walked toward the woods. Ward would have 


DALE ESCAPES 


261 


stopped her, but she hissed like a snake in his face, 
and there was a hardness in the blue eyes he could 
not withstand. 

As she disappeared with her burden Black Hoof 
said something to Lost Sister’s red husband. This 
warrior, very loath to miss the spectacle of a burn- 
ing, sullenly glided after the woman. I feared he 
was sent to bring them back, but as they did not 
return I knew he was ordered to stand guard over 
them. 

Now the opening was filled with the Shawnees, 
word having passed that Black Hoof was about to 
appease his war-medicine. Only the scouts and Lost 
Sister’s man remained out. Dale was stood on his 
feet and his upper garments were torn off from him. 
As they offered to lead him to the stake he struck 
their hands aside and with firm step walked inside 
the circle of brush which had been heaped up some 
five feet from the stake. 

I closed my eyes and endeavored not to witness 
the scene but was unable to keep them closed. With 
a spancel rope fastened to his ankles Dale was fur- 
ther secured by a long cord tied around one wrist 
and fastened some fifteen feet up the trimmed 
sapling. 

When the flames began to bite on one side he 
could hobble around the post to the opposite side. 
As the flames spread he would become very active, 
but each revolution around the post would shorten 


262 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


the slack of the wrist-cord. With the entire circle 
of fuel ablaze he would slowly roast. Black Hoof 
muttered some gibberish and applied the torch. 

As the first billow of smoke rose and before the 
savages could commence their dancing and prelim- 
inary tortures, Ericus Dale threw back his head and 
loudly prayed: 

“O God, protect my little girl! O God, have 
mercy upon me !” 

Black Hoof jeered him, sardonically crying: 

“The white man makes medicine to his white 
manito. Let Big Turtle* try him with a mouthful 
of fire. We will see if the white manito is weak or 
afraid to help his child.” 

A burly warrior scooped up coals on a piece of 
bark and with a fiendish grin leaped through the 
smoke. Two rifle shots, so close together as to be 
almost one, shattered the tense silence as the sav- 
ages held their breath to enjoy every symptom of 
the excruciating agony. Dale went down on his 
knees, a small blue hole showing where the bullet 
mercifully had struck his heart. Big Turtle leaped 
backward and fell into the burning brush. A war- 
rior, acting mechanically, dragged the Turtle clear 
of the flames. He was stone-dead. 

For several moments the Indians were incapable 
of motion, so astounding was this interference with 
their sport. It was the scream of a panther that 


♦Also Daniel Boone’s Shawnee name in later years. 


DALE ESCAPES 


263 


awoke them to furious activity. Black Hoof shouted 
for his men to catch the white scout. Then he 
turned on me and raised his ax. The act was invol- 
untary, for at once dropping his arm he ordered his 
men to extinguish the fire and to see I did not 
escape. Then he hurried into the forest. 

The fire was stamped out and Dale’s body re- 
moved to one side. I asked them to cover the dead 
man with a blanket, which they readily did. Now 
Lost Sister returned, this time leading Patricia. I 
called to her in Shawnee: 

“Bring the white girl here. Does she know her 
father is dead?” 

“I told her. The men said he was killed by a 
white bullet,” was the sullen reply. 

“Leave her with me and wash the black from his 
face,” I said. 

She brought her charge to me. Patricia’s eyes 
were hot as if with fever. She dropped beside me 
and stared wildly. Then she began to remember 
and said: 

“My father is dead, they tell me.” 

“He is dead. He suffered none. It is as he 
wished. He could not escape. He is at peace.” 

“Life is so terrible,” she mumbled. “Death is so 
peaceful. Death is so beautiful. Then one is so 
safe.” 

She gave a little scream and collapsed with her 
head resting on my bound hands. But although her 


264 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


slender frame shook convulsively she shed no 
tears. 

I tried to talk to her as I would to a little child. 
After a while she rose and her composure frightened 
me. She walked to her father. Lost Sister had re- 
moved the telltale black. The girl kneeled and 
kissed him and patted his hair. Then returning to 
me, she quietly said : 

“He looks very peaceful. Very happy. I am glad 
he did not have to suffer. The bullet that took his 
life was very kind. It must be very beautiful to be 
dead.” 

She ceased speaking and slowly began stretching 
her arms above her head, and with a long-drawn 
scream she fell over backward and I knew she had 
lost her reason. 


CHAPTER X 


OUR MEDICINE GROWS STRONGER 

'"THE Shawnees’ anxiety to start for the Ohio 
almost became a panic. The tragic manner in 
which they had been robbed of their victim, the 
screaming defiance of young Cousin, together with 
their losses in warriors, convinced them something 
was radically wrong with their war-medicine. Out- 
wardly Black Hoof remained calm but I knew he 
was greatly worried. His medicine had designated 
Dale for the torture, and then had permitted a bul- 
let to release the man. 

Nor was it any small influence which the girl’s 
condition exerted in this desire to retreat. She 
seemed to be stunned. She walked about, but with- 
out appearing to hear or see her captors. There 
was none of the savages who did not believe her 
terrible scream prefaced her crossing the dividing- 
line between reason and insanity. 

As an insane person she was under the special 
protection of the great manito, and black woe to 
him who interfered with her. The chief was eager 
to abandon her to be picked up b;, the settlers at 
265 


266 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


Howard’s Creek, but she clung tenaciously to Cou- 
sin’s sister. The latter displayed no emotion over 
this preference, yet she did not repulse the girl. 
She even was gentle in caring for her. 

Ward was for finishing me out of hand, but 
Black Hoof insisted I should carry packs and make 
myself useful before being dispensed with. Then 
again I would be something to display at the vil- 
lages and something to dance about when it came to 
appeasing the ghosts of the slain warriors. We 
broke camp that night, and with malicious ingenuity 
Ward strapped packs on my shoulders until my 
back buckled. As he finished and was promising to 
thrust his knife into my legs if I displayed any 
weariness. Cousin’s sister came up and sharply di- 
rected him to remove the packs as I was to serve as 
a litter-bearer. 

“The white woman asks for him,” she said. 
“Catahecassa gives him to me to help carry the 
medicine-woman.” 

Ward raged, but Black Hoof upheld the girl; and 
although I knew Patricia was too insensible of her 
surroundings to ask for any one, I was keen to serve 
her. Lost Sister had fashioned a rude litter out of 
rawhide and two saplings, slack between the poles 
so the girl could not roll out. To my surprise she 
stepped between the saplings at the forward end 
and called on me to pick up the other end and march. 
I considered it to be a man’s work, but she made 


OUR MEDICINE GROWS STRONGER 267 


nothing of it, and never called a halt that she might 
rest. 

In the morning the hunters brought in some deer- 
meat and turkeys, and we camped long enough to 
eat. Once more Ward endeavored to prevail upon 
the chief to put me out of the way. He played upon 
Black Hoof’s superstitions very cunningly by de- 
claring the war-medicine would be very weak until 
I was killed. The chief was impressed, else he never 
would have come to stare at me. 

It happened, however, that Patricia was delirious, 
and it was my hand on her head that seemed to quiet 
her. Lost Sister told a noble lie by volunteering 
the information that it was my presence that kept 
the girl quiet. Black Hoof and his braves had a 
great fear of the girl when she began her rambling 
talk. They believed she was surrounded by ghosts 
and talking with them. So Ward’s request was 
refused, and stern orders were given that I should 
not be harmed. When the home villages were 
reached, he added, I might be burned. 

When we made our second camp on the Kanawha 
I called Black Hoof to me. I had been staked out 
in spread-eagle fashion and my guards had placed 
saplings across my body and were preparing to lie 
down on the ends at each side of me. I assured the 
chief there was no danger of my running away, as 
my medicine would wither and die, did I forsake the 
great manito’s child ; and I asked him to relieve me 


268 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


of the cords and saplings. He told the warriors to 
omit the cords. 

The next time we halted to snatch a few hours’ 
sleep he ordered that no more saplings be placed 
across me, that it would be sufficient to tie my 
ankles and wrists. This was a great relief. During 
this portion of the march the girl seemed oblivious 
to her surroundings, also to the fact that she was a 
captive. She showed a strong preference for Lost 
Sister’s company, and would glance about worriedly 
if the young woman left her sight. 

So it devolved on the two of us, both white, to 
care for her. There were times when she babbled 
of faraway scenes, of Williamsburg and her old 
home, of the streets of Norfolk and Richmond. She 
talked with those she had known as children. When 
in this condition the Indians were glad to keep away 
from us. Even Ward would not willingly remain 
within hearing of her sweet voice could he avoid 
so doing. And alas ! There were other times when 
she was almost violent, when only Lost Sister could 
soothe and quiet her. 

By the time we reached the mouth of the Great 
Kanawha no guard was kept over me that I could 
perceive; nor were my limbs any longer bound at 
night. At each camp Lost Sister ranged the woods 
and brought in roots and herbs and made strange- 
smelling messes in a camp kettle and assiduously 
dosed the girl. 


OUR MEDICINE GROWS STRONGER 269 


Rafts were quickly knocked together and the 
crossing made to the Indian shore. I had expected 
the band to dig out hidden canoes and descend to 
the mouth of the Scioto. Instead we struck into a 
trail across-country. The path was well worn, and 
the fork we followed ended at the Scioto above 
Chillicothe, the principal Shawnee town. 

Much of the distance Patricia walked, although 
the litter was taken along for her convenience. Lost 
Sister talked with me at times and I began to feel 
that the barrier between us was much lower. But 
she never spoke of the settlements or her brother. 
Her talk was always a red talk and she never ad- 
dressed me except in Shawnee. 

From her I learned we were making for Corn- 
stalk’s Town, some twenty-five miles above Chilli- 
cothe, located on Scippo Creek. Among border 
men this region was known as the Pickaway Plains. 
Near our destination was Grenadier Squaw’s Town, 
named after Cornstalk’s gigantic sister. 

I suffered no incivility during the overland 
march. My status became that of an attendant on 
the great manito’s medicine-child. Patricia contin- 
ued in a dazed state of mind, but after two days of 
arduous travel I detected her weeping. Lost Sister 
enigmatically warned: 

“She is another woman. She is more like the 
woman she once was. She must keep close to her 
manito ” 


270 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


I could interpret this only to mean that the girl 
was recovering from her mental shock and was 
recalling bits of the past, and that she was safe 
only so long as the savages believed her to be in- 
sane. At our last camp from Cornstalk’s Town 
Patricia insisted on walking beside me when the 
trace would permit it and she startled me by saying : 

“My father was good to me.” 

“Do you remember me ?” I asked. 

“Remember you, Basdel ? Why, of course. What 
a queer question.” Then with a little frown she 
sighed and complained. “But I don’t understand 
why I am here with you and these Indians. I won- 
der if it is a bad dream, if I will soon wake up.” 

I blundered along the best I could, striving to 
say nothing which might upset her. She suddenly 
refused to talk and began displaying much physical 
nervousness. Lost Sister promptly took her in hand 
and led her some distance in advance of me. That 
was the day the band split up, the bulk of the war- 
riors leaving to go to their different villages. Half 
a dozen remained to press on to Cornstalk’s Town. 

Ward was among those who left us and he was 
unwilling to go. His departure was a great relief 
to me. His presence frightened the girl, although 
she gave no sign of remembering him as having 
been a factor in her life. It was due entirely to Lost 
Sister’s appeal to Black Hoof that the renegade was 
ordered to Chillicothe. 


OUR MEDICINE GROWS STRONGER 271 


As he was leaving us he promised me : 

“I’ll yet see you eating fire. That white squaw 
will see me again. ,, 

“I’ll dance your mangy scalp some time,” I re- 
torted. 

Whereat he used terms of abuse he had picked 
up from traders, and I struck him with my fist. 
Black Hoof stopped him from killing me, and 
threatened me with torture if I offended again. 
Then he ordered Ward to go. 

The chief continued with us to Cornstalk’s Town, 
but Cornstalk was not there; so he went in search 
of him at Grenadier Squaw’s Town. Before leav- 
ing he gave orders that I was not to be molested so 
long as I did not attempt to escape. The town was 
inhabited by women and children largely, with a 
dozen men left to act as hunters. 

It was plain that the fighting men of the tribe 
were gathering somewhere, probably at Chillicothe. 
Patricia was believed to be in touch with the manito, 
and was feared and respected accordingly. The 
days that followed were not unhappy for me; and 
Patricia appeared to be contented in a numb sort of 
way. 

My own reaction to the anxieties and fears of 
our captivity devitalized me to a certain degree, I 
believed; else, I would not have been contented to 
settle down to the drowsy existence of village life. 
I did no hunting. I was a companion to the girl 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


272 

when she wished for my company. Aside from 
that capacity the Indians looked on me as if I had 
been a tree. 

I talked on general subjects with Lost Sister, al- 
ways waiting for her to blaze the trace our words 
were to follow. Her red husband remained aloof 
from her from the day she took charge of Patricia. 
Whether he resented her companionship with us I 
do not know, and after our arrival he disappeared 
for a time. 

I discovered I was lacking in curiosity as to what 
each morrow had in store for us. It savored of the 
indifference of the fatalist. But I did come to the 
alert when I observed Patricia was rapidly return- 
ing to normal. I remembered Lost Sister’s warn- 
ing, “She must keep close to her manito ” I was 
forced to repeat these words to her. 

It was one of the hardest tasks I ever undertook. 
She suffered deeply when she began to grasp my 
meaning. She began to remember things con- 
cretely. Yet life was the stake, and the fact that my 
life was also involved helped her much. With the 
aid of Lost Sister I taught her how to be ever on 
her guard, how to carry herself when in the presence 
of the silent but ever watchful Indians. 

Once the shock wore off somewhat she found it 
was not difficult to keep up her role. The most ef- 
fective way to allay any suspicion was for her to 
talk aloud to herself. The savages believed she was 


OUR MEDICINE GROWS STRONGER 273 


holding conversation with inmates of the invisible 
world, and drew away from her. But while she im- 
proved, my lethargy continued. My physical and 
mental strength seemed to be sapped. I was content 
to lie on the bank of the creek, my mind idling with 
vagaries. 

Some six weeks passed in this desultory fashion, 
then Cornstalk and Black Hoof returned to the vil- 
lage with three warriors and a negro woman. The 
woman had been captured at Sapling Grove within 
three hundred yards of Captain Evan Shelby's 
house, the woman told me. She also informed me 
that her captors were led by a very large man, 
much whiter than any of his companions, and that 
he talked good English. 

This description fitted either John Logan or Will 
Emery, the Cherokee half-breed. I decided the 
man was Logan. The woman was treated kindly. 
Immediately on arrival the two chiefs retired to a 
wigwam for a long talk. Then Black Hoof sent 
for me and Patricia. I warned her to pay no atten- 
tion to them, and to talk much to herself. She 
acted admirably and was kept in the wigwam only 
a few minutes. 

Cornstalk had watched her closely, and both he 
and Black Hoof were uneasy and relieved when she 
departed. Toward me their manner was incisive, 
and they demanded certain information. As I knew 
conditions had changed vastly since I was captured 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


274 

I talked freely and improvised considerably. There 
was no military value whatever to the news that I 
imparted. 

Cornstalk, who was a large man and of a com- 
manding appearance, and possessing unusual in- 
tellectual powers, was keen to learn about individ- 
uals, especially about Daniel Boone. He asked how 
many men Boone could lead against the Shawnees. 
I told him all the border men would be glad to 
serve under him, that he was collecting fighting 
men when I was taken prisoner. 

“Your tongue is split,” Cornstalk warned. “Be 
careful, or we will say that young medicine-woman 
does not need a liar to care for her. Be careful, or 
your tongue will be pulled out. The Shawnees will 
be glad to warm themselves at your fire. That man 
was sent to the Falls of the Ohio. He has returned 
to the settlements. He commands three forts in 
the lower valleys. Will he head riflemen to battle, 
or stay at the forts ?” 

I truthfully answered that I believed he would be 
given an important command. And I explained how 
Colonel Lewis would be over him as he would be 
over many other brave leaders. They knew Lewis 
and feared him. Their faces were very glum until 
I repeated Connolly’s message to Charles Lewis that 
peace with the tribes was very possible. Then they 
smiled grimly and Cornstalk informed me. 

“Your Dunmore ordered his Long Knives to 


OUR MEDICINE GROWS STRONGER 275 


march against Shawnee towns ten sleeps after you 
were captured/’* 

I was startled at the information and glanced 
through the opening of the wigwam as if expecting 
to see the lean militia men breaking from the woods. 
The chief added: 

“But they seem to have trouble in starting. Per- 
haps they are very old men and can not walk fast. 
I shall send my young men across the Ohio to dig 
them out of the mud.” 

“The Cherokees will not join the Shawnees,” I 
ventured. 

Cornstalk eyed me menacingly. 

“They will not because they have old women 
among them. They put their powder in bags, and 
put the bags in caves. Their powder is spoiled. 
After I whip your army the Cherokees will carry 
their axes into the Carolinas.” 

I believed the Cherokees would do this, if our 
army were whipped. Turning to Black Hoof, Corn- 
stalk asked: 

“How long before you roast this white man ?” 

“After we have whipped the army of Dunmore 
and Lewis and Boone. Now he waits on the med- 
icine-woman. After the battle there will be many 
white women to wait on her.” 

^Expedition against Indian towns ordered July 24th. 
Boone returned from Kentucky to the settlements August 
27th. 


276 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


I was dismissed and on reaching the open air I 
discovered I had left all my apathy behind me. The 
importance of time and the imperative need of im- 
mediate action was burned into my brain by Black 
Hoof’s words. I sought Patricia and found her 
seated on the bank, staring into the sluggish waters. 

“I was thinking of you, Basdel,” she greeted, and 
she reached her hand to me. “I was remembering 
what I said in Salem about your rifle. I’m sorry. 
I did wrong.” 

“Heavens, child! Abuse the rifle all you will!” 

“It was abuse of you and of all that your rifle 
stood for. I mocked you because you were from 
the border. Poor father! He knew many Indians, 
but he did not understand them. Town ways seem 
mighty small and of no account now.” 

“Patsy, you must get a grip on yourself. We 
must get clear of this village at once. We must get 
back to Virginia.” 

She shivered and her eyes dilated as she stared 
at me and she muttered: 

“I dread the woods, the silence, the darkness. 
The wolves howling at night. Worst of all is the 
creeping horror of being chased. No! No! I 
can’t stand any more, Basdel. The black horror 
comes over me when I let myself think of it. The 
dank woods — the silence — the awful stealth of 
night. No, no, Basdel. Let me die here.” 

“Patsy, grip yourself! You can’t stay among 


OUR MEDICINE GROWS STRONGER 277 


these beggars. They think you are insane. That’s 
why they’ve spared you. But there’s going to be a 
battle soon. If they win they’ll bring many pris- 
oners here. You must not be here then.” 

She interrupted me with a little heart-broken cry 
and clapped her hands to her eyes to blot out some 
horrid picture. It was harsh, but the way she was 
inclining led to permanent madness. 

“We will steal away and make the Ohio. The 
Indians are busy planning for the big battle. 
They’ll not spare many men to seek us. I will take 
you back to Virginia and across the mountains.” 

“Or we will both die,” she whispered. “That 
wouldn’t be bad. To die and be out of it all — But 
I mustn’t speak for you, Basdel.” 

“You speak for both of us,” I comforted. “Death 
isn’t terrible. This is.” And I swept my hand in a 
half-circle at the Shawnee wigwams forming the 
village. “Say nothing to Cousin’s sister. I will 
make my plans at once. A gun, some powder and 
lead, and then we will go.” 

“And never come back to them alive?” she in- 
sisted, and she leaned forward and stared intently 
into my eyes. 

“Never alive, sweetheart.” 

“That is much better,” she quietly remarked. 
“And here comes my sister. She has been very 
good to me. I wish we could take her with us. 
Over the mountains, or to death.” 


278 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


“She refused to go over the mountains with her 
brother. We must tell her nothing,” I warned. 

Lost Sister gave me a quick glance as she came 
up. She gazed at Patricia in silence for a moment, 
then warned : 

“The white woman must keep close to her manito. 
The eyes of the eagle and the ears of the fox are 
in this village.” 

“She is having bad thoughts,” I told her. “Lead 
her thoughts through new paths.” 

As I strolled away I heard her beginning a Shaw- 
nee myth, in which it was explained why the wet- 
hawk feeds while flying, and how the small turkey- 
buzzard got its tufted head. 

According to the notches cut in my long stick it 
was the first day of September. Now that Corn- 
stalk was back and in conference with Black Hoof 
the village became a center of importance. Notable 
chiefs and medicine-men of the northern tribes 
began to assemble. Lost Sister pointed out to me 
Puck-e-shin-wa, father of a six-year-old boy, who 
was to become one of the most remarkable Indian 
characters in our history, under the name of Tecum- 
seh. 

Young Ellinipsico, son of Cornstalk, was there, 
gay in his war-trappings and eager for the battle. 
Blue Jacket, another famous Shawnee chief and 
warrior, was in attendance. Of the allied tribes I 
saw Chiyawee the Wyandot, Scoppathus the Mingo* 


OUR MEDICINE GROWS STRONGER 279 


Redhawk the Delaware, and most interesting of all, 
John Logan, chief of the Mingos. 

He was the son of a French man, who was 
adopted by the Oneidas, but he always claimed kin 
to the Cayuga, the term “Mingo” being loosely ap- 
plied by our border men to any fragments of the 
Iroquois living outside the Long House in New 
York Province. Logan came and went inside an 
hour, spending all his time in a secret conference 
with Cornstalk. 

I saw him as he strode through the little village, 
looking neither to right nor left, saturnine of coun- 
tenance. He showed his white blood, being much 
lighter in complexion than the full-bloods. A war- 
rior walked behind him, carrying his gun. The 
chief himself carried a long wand decorated with 
the ten or twelve scalps he had taken since Baker 
and Greathouse massacred his people at Baker's 
Bottom. 

Young Cherokees, stolen away from their nation 
to be in at the death of the white race in Virginia, 
were present without leaders. Black Hoof’s long 
absence from the villages was explained when a full 
score Ottawas filed into the opening and sang their 
war-song. Their spokesman loudly announced that 
they were but the advance of many of their tribe. 

I feared I had waited too long, and was much 
relieved to learn from Lost Sister that warriors and 
chiefs were to move to Chillicothe at once and there 


28 o 


r A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


await the coming of the western bands. Their going 
would leave our village practically deserted except 
for aged and broken men and the women and chil- 
dren. 

Lost Sister said her husband was eager to take 
the path, and that it was Cornstalk’s plan to cross 
the Ohio instead of waiting to be attacked in his 
own country. She was vague as to the chiefs exact 
plans once he had crossed the river, but by joining 
her brief statements together I was led to believe 
Cornstalk had learned that the Virginia forces had 
been split into two armies, and that the masterly red 
strategist planned to surprise and annihilate one, 
and then attack the second. This information alone 
was of sufficient importance for me to risk my life 
many times in order to apprise my superiors of the 
trap being set for them. 

By the time the sun was half-way down the after- 
noon sky all the chiefs were moving down the river 
bound for Chillicothe. Young Ellinipsico and a 
mixed band of warriors were left to arrange for 
guarding the girl. He would depart for Chillicothe 
on the morrow. I went in search of the girl and 
met Lost Sister standing by a big honey-tree. She 
asked me if I had seen her husband, and looked wor- 
ried when I shook my head. 

“He said he would not go without seeing me, and 
yet he is not here in the village. Your white woman 
— she walks far from her manito . It is bad for her.” 


OUR MEDICINE GROWS STRONGER 281 


“She must leave here,” I boldly said. “I must 
take her away.” I had had no intention of taking 
her into my confidence, but I realized it would be 
impossible to make a start without her missing the 
girl. So I took the desperate course and did what 
I had warned Patricia not to do. 

She drew her knife and cut some straight marks 
on the honey-tree. 

“You see those?” she asked. 

I bowed my head. Without explaining the 
relevancy of her question, she turned and walked 
rapidly toward the village. I stared at the marks 
and they told me nothing. There was nothing pic- 
torial about them. I followed her among the wig- 
wams, and was in time to see her leading Patricia 
into her wigwam. I sauntered after them, obsessed 
by the notion that strange forces were at work. The 
village seemed to be quiet and sleepy and yet the air 
was surcharged with threats of things about to 
happen. 

When the storm broke it was from a quarter en- 
tirely different from anything I could have im- 
agined. My first intimation that something unus- 
ual was happening was when a Shawnee ran into 
the village and began talking to Ellinipsico, who was 
lounging sleepily on the grass before his father's 
wigwam. I heard Ellinipsico exclaim : 

“He must not be hurt. He has felt the hand of 
the great manito on his head.” 


282 


'A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


I looked about for a weapon, so that I might go 
down fighting, for I first thought the stranger 
Indians were demanding me for a plaything, not 
understanding my true status as servant to the 
medicine-woman. I knew this was not the solution 
of the affair when Ellinipsico jumped to his feet and 
ran to the edge of the village, at every bound shout- 
ing to the Ottawas to hurry back to the village. 

A loud outcry answered him from the forest. To 
my amazement Ellinipsico slowed down his mad 
pace and appeared to be reluctant to enter the woods. 
The few Shawnees and Mingos in the village fol- 
lowed his example in timidity. Then above the war- 
cry of the Ottawas rose the roar of Baby Kirst, 
punctuated by the crack of a rifle and the death-yell 
of a savage. 

Now I understood. The Ottawas, ignorant of 
Kirst’s condition, had met him blundering through 
the woods and had essayed to halt his progress. He 
promptly had offered fight, and they were at it, with 
the odds greatly in favor of the Indians. In my 
excitement I ran to where Ellinipsico stood. He 
was dancing with rage and fright. Beholding me, 
he ordered me to dive into the growth and stop the 
fight. 

I glanced back and saw Lost Sister and Patricia 
leaving the wigwam. Lost Sister began leading her 
charge toward the south end of the village and 
jerked her head at me as though calling on me to 


OUR MEDICINE GROWS STRONGER 283 


follow. It was driven into my mind that this was 
the time to escape with the girl. I plunged into the 
woods and no Indian cared to dog my steps. 

I made as if to go to the scene of the fearful con- 
fusion, but once out of sight of Ellinipsico and his 
men I turned to intercept the course taken by Lost 
Sister and Patricia. I miscalculated the distance, 
or else the combatants made a rapid shift of ground, 
for before I knew it I was standing on the edge of 
a most ferocious struggle. Kirst was still mounted 
and bleeding from a dozen wounds. His long rifle 
was being swung for a club. 

My first view of him was as he splintered the butt 
on an Ottawa head. He bawled in triumph. The 
Ottawas, expecting no diversion so near the village, 
were armed only with their knives and axes. A 
fellow leaped on to the horse and tried to stab him 
from behind, and one immense hand reached back 
and caught him by the neck and held him in mid- 
air, and squeezed the life from the painted body, 
and then hurled him among the remaining warriors. 

The girl must come first, but it was not in my 
heart to pass without contributing something to 
Kirst’s advantage. I snatched up a war-club, 
dropped by a slain savage, and hurled it into the 
thick of them, bowling over two. Kirst’s horse went 
down, disemboweled. Now Kirst was at a great dis- 
advantage, but his long arms gathered up two of the 
Ottawas, and I heard their ribs crack, as with a 


284 A VIRGINIA SCOUT 

pleased grunt the simple fellow contracted his em- 
brace. 

But now they were piling upon him, striking and 
stabbing, a living mound which for the moment 
concealed the big fellow. Then the mass began to 
disintegrate, and savages staggered back and fell 
dead, or suffering from terrible wounds. Kirst 
rose to his feet only to fall on his face as if shot 
through the head, although he received no wound 
at the time that I could perceive. 

My last glance was fleeting, but it sufficed to 
count six silent forms of Ottawas who would never 
cross the Ohio to attack Lord Dunmore’s armies. 
One Indian, gasping with pain, with both arms 
hanging like rags, lurched by me but not seeing me. 
his gaping mouth trying to sound his death-song. 
Ellinipsico was calling on his men to follow him, 
and I sped away. 

Baby Kirst had fulfilled his destiny and would 
babble his way through the forests no more. The 
force which had destroyed his reason had paid the 
full price the law of compensation had worked out. 

Could I find the girl without returning to the 
village I hoped the confusion resulting from the 
bloody struggle would permit me to steal away with 
her. I swung back toward the opening and soon 
discovered Patricia and Lost Sister. The latter on 
beholding me called me by name, the first time she 
had ever done so. As I ran to them she fiercely 
said : 


OUR MEDICINE GROWS STRONGER 285 


“Take your white woman and go! Cross the 
Ohio but do not go up the Kanawha. Follow the 
Guyandotte or Sandy, into the valley of the Clinch. 
You must hurry !” 

As if the day had not been hideous enough a 
bepainted warrior burst through the undergrowth as 
she finished, with his bow raised and an arrow 
drawn to the head. Beneath the war vermilion, 
I recognized Lost Sister’s husband. She threw out 
her arms and smiled scornfully and cried : 

“You hide in the bushes to watch me? I thought 
so.” 

Then she was down with an arrow buried to the 
feathers. 

I leaped into the bushes and grappled with the 
murderer before he could draw another arrow from 
his quiver. He dropped his bow and endeavored to 
hurl me to the ground. As we whirled about I saw 
Patricia kneeling beside Lost Sister and striving to 
pet her back to life. One glimpse, and then all my 
attention was needed for my adversary. He was 
quicker than I, and his freshly oiled body made him 
hard to hold; but I was far the stronger. 

“His knife, Basdel; Look out;” screamed Pa- 
tricia; and I was glad to note there was no mad- 
ness in her voice. 

I had him by his right wrist, my left arm shoved 
under his chin and into his red throat. The girl’s 
gaze sent my gaze downward. He was trying to 


286 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


work the knife from its sheath before I could force 
him backward or break his neck. But the sheath 
was too long for the knife and he could not reach 
the handle with his fingers until he had forced the 
blade upward by pinching the tip of the sheath. I 
did not try to interfere with his maneuver, but set- 
tled myself solidly to hold him from escaping. 

“The knife, Basdel!” she shrilly repeated. Then 
she nearly upset my calculations by trying to thrust 
a bough between my foe's feet. Only by a nim- 
ble maneuver did I escape being tripped; but it was 
heartening to know Patricia could respond to my 
needs. 

“Stand clear!" I panted. “I have him!" 

“But the knife!" she despairingly cried. 

“He’s getting it for me !" I replied. 

Now he had managed to work the haft clear of the 
leather and his left hand was closing on it. His 
eyes told me that much. Instantly I changed my 
tactics. I dropped my left arm to seize his left 
wrist. I released his right wrist and with my free 
hand tore the weapon from his grasp. He struck me 
in the head with his free fist, but I felt it none as he 
did not have the white man’s trick of delivering a 
buffet. We went down side by side, and by the 
time we had rolled over once he was dead by his 
own knife. 

Retaining the weapon, I ran to Patricia as she 
collapsed by the side of the dying woman. 


OUR MEDICINE GROWS STRONGER 287 


“I am all right! Get up!” I commanded. 

Cousin’s sister smiled grimly, and whispered: 

“He has been watching us. He saw me come here 
when I scratched the tree. He has been hiding — 
The marks I made on the honey-tree — Look behind 
it — the pea-vines — . Tell Shelby I send him a lit- 
tle sister — ” And she had solved all her problems, 
and had passed into the compassion of the manito 
whose gentleness and understanding surpass all 
comprehension. 

Patricia was weeping softly, as one who sorrows 
with an aching heart, but not as one who is afraid. 
I gathered her up in my arms and made for the 
honey-tree close by. I stood her on her feet, and 
exhorted her to be brave as the time had come for 
us to take to flight. I plunged into the pea-vines 
behind the tree. A new thrill of life fired me as I 
fished out my own rifle, a powder-horn, shot-pouch 
and linen patches. Cousin’s sister had even remem- 
bered to provide a roll of buckskin and an awl for 
mending our moccasins, and a small package of 
smoked meat. 

Thus armed once more I took the girl’s hand and 
stole through the woods, following the well-beaten 
path that led to Chillicothe, and planning to swing 
to the east and skirt the town under the cover of 
darkness. I desired to emerge on the Ohio at a 
point opposite the mouth of the Big Sandy. For 
some time we could hear the wailing and howling 


$ 

288 ^VIRGINIA SCOUT 

f 

of the Shawnees in Cornstalk’s Town as they 
mourned for the dead Ottawas, and Patricia was 
sadly frightened. My ears were tingling for fear 
they would catch the cry of discovery, but young 
Ellinipsico was there instead of Black Hoof, and 
our flight was undiscovered. 


CHAPTER XI 


BACK TO THE BLUE WALL 

V5VE REACHED the Ohio and I soon found a 
canoe. The trip down the Scioto had its 
danger thrills, and twice we narrowly escaped meet- 
ing bands of warriors on the main trace. I stuck 
to the path because of its advantages. None below 
us knew we had left the upper town, and would 
not be looking for us. In the beaten path there was 
much less chance of leaving signs for some scout 
to pick up and follow. I knew warriors would be 
scouring the country in all directions once the news 
of our escape was carried to Chillicothe, but the 
Scioto path was the last one they would expect us 
to take. 

I had remembered Lost Sister’s warning and 
planned to follow the Big Sandy until its head 
waters interlocked with those of the Clinch and 
Holston. It was nerve-wearing work, that crossing 
of the Ohio. With each dip of the paddle I expected 
rifles to crack behind me and canoes to poke their 
noses through the overhanging foliage and make 
after us. I could not see that the girl breathed dur- 
289 


290 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


in g the crossing, and I kept her in front of me as her 
face was a mirror to reflect instantly any danger on 
the Indian shore. 

We landed at the mouth of Four-Mile Creek with- 
out any disturbing incidents. I told her we were 
four miles above the mouth of the Scioto and she 
was for placing more distance between us and that 
river at once. But it was impossible to travel all 
the time. Now we were foot-free, and as I had my 
rifle the Shawnees would pay high before catching 
up with us, I assured her. I had been at Four-Mile 
Creek the year before to survey five hundred acres 
of good bottom-land for Patrick Henry, and was of 
course familiar with the locality. 

Five hundred yards back from the Ohio was ail 
old fort. I took the girl there to rest while I 
patched our moccasins. The Indians said this struc- 
ture was so ancient that no one knew who built it. 
As a matter of fact it was the remains of George 
Croghan’s stone trading-house. Traces of an In- 
dian town, antedating the fort, were also to be ob- 
served. Very possibly it w r as occupied by the Shaw- 
nees before they built their first town at the mouth 
of the Scioto on the west bank. It was from this 
Scioto town that Mary Ingles escaped in 1755, and 
the history of her daring and hardships rather be- 
littled my feat in bringing Patricia from the upper 
town. 

The poor girl continued extremely nervous and 


BACK TO THE BLUE WALL 


291 


I feared she would collapse. Now that she had 
tasted freedom she feared the Indians were hot on 
our trail. Her gaze was constantly roving to the 
Ohio. She was fearing to behold the Shawnees 
paddling across to recapture us. The moccasins 
had to be mended, however, as the night travel down 
the Scioto path had sadly damaged them. 

As I sewed the whangs through the rips and 
hastily patched the holes I could see her worriment 
was increasing. That period of delay was more 
trying to her fortitude than when we were making 
the detour around Chillicothe and our very lives 
hung on luck, or the mercy of her manito. 

“There is something in the river,” she whispered, 
her slight figure growing rigid. 

“Only a log,” I told her. 

“Look! Isn’t there something moving in the 
bushes ?” And she clutched my arm. 

“Only the wind ruffling the tops,” I soothed. 

She was silent for a few minutes and then con- 
fessed : 

“I dread and hate the river, Basdel. I wish we 
could get out of sight of it.” 

“It’s a short trip in the canoe to the Big Sandy.” 

“And with the possibility of an Indian hiding 
behind every stump and log along the shore !” 

“Then we will hide the canoe and strike across 
the bend. A few creeks to cross, and inside of two 
days we should reach the Big Sandy. It’s about 


292 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


thirty-five miles and there is the blaze left by the 
surveyors. Do you wish that? It will be harder 
for your feet than riding in the canoe. It may be 
easier on your nerves.” 

“Anything, Basdel, to get away from the river! 
And can’t we start now? I know we shall see the 
Indians coming across to catch us if we stay here 
much longer.” 

I tossed her her moccasins and quickly mended 
mine and put them on. Leaving her to wait until 
I could draw up the canoe and hide it, I proceeded 
to conceal all traces of our landing as best I could,, 
and then told her I was ready. 

The bottoms on this side of the river are nar- 
rower than on the Indian shore, and the old sur- 
veyors’ blaze proved to be a wet path. The small 
creeks were bordered with cane and when we en- 
countered them it was hard on the girl. But she 
minded hardships none, and once we were out of 
sight of the river she regained some of her spirits. 
But a glimpse of the blue river brought back her old 
fears as though the Ohio were some monster able to 
reach out and seize her. 

Before night I proved the river could be good to 
us. Against her will I had swung down to the shore 
and was leading her along a narrow beach in order 
to escape a bad tangle of briers when I had the 
good fortune to discover a bateau lodged against the 
bank. The girl begged me not to go near it 


BACK TO THE BLUE WALL 


293 


although it was obviously empty. I insisted and 
was rewarded with a bag containing a bushel of 
corn. Now we could have cooked it in our kettle 
had we been provided with that indispensable article. 
As it was there was life in munching the corn. 

The undergrowth was a nuisance, being composed 
of pea-vines, clover, nettles, cane and briery berry 
bushes. I would not stop to camp until I could 
reach a tract free from the stuff. As a result it was 
nearly sunset by the time we halted in a mixed 
growth of hickory, ironwood and ash on the banks 
of a tiny creek. Here we could pick a path that 
left no signs. We rested a bit and then followed the 
creek toward its outlet for half a mile and came to 
a log cabin. 

The girl dropped to the ground, glaring as if we 
were beholding the painted head of a Shawnee. I 
assured her it was a white man’s cabin and probably 
empty. Leaving her behind an elm, I scouted the 
place and satisfied myself there had been no recent 
visitors there. I called to her to join me and proudly 
displayed an iron kettle I had found by the door. 
But when I would have left her to make the kettle 
boil while I looked for a turkey, she refused to stay 
and insisted on accompanying me. 

Fortunately I perched a turkey within two hun- 
dred feet of the cabin. I hung the kettle in the fire- 
place and built a good fire under it and then dressed 
the turkey. For some reason the girl preferred the 


294 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


open to the cabin and remained outside the door. 
As I finished my task she called to me excitedly. 
Grabbing my rifle, I ran out. She was pointing 
dramatically at a big blaze on a mulberry-tree. The 
scar was fresh, and on it some one had written with 
a charred stick : 

Found some people killed here. We are gone 
down this way. Douglass. 

“What does it mean?” she whispered, her eyes 
very big as she stared at the dusky forest wall. 

“That would be James Douglass,” I mused. “He 
came down here with Floyd’s surveying-party last 
spring. I wonder who was killed.” 

“Enough to know the Indians have been here,” 
she said, drawing closer to me. “Can’t we go the 
way they did and be safe ?” 

“We might make it. But ‘gone down this way’ 
means they started for New Orleans. A long, 
roundabout journey to Williamsburg.” 

“Oh, never that ! I didn’t understand,” she cried. 
“I will be braver. But if the nearest way home was 
by the Ohio I would go by land. Anything but the 
river ! Remember your promise that we are not to 
be taken alive. Now let’s push on.” 

“And leave this excellent shelter?” I protested. 

“Men have been killed here. I can’t abide it. A 
few miles more — please.” 


BACK TO THE BLUE WALL 295 


Of course she had her own way, but I made her 
wait until we had cooked some corn to a mush and 
I had broiled the turkey. I could have told her it 
would be difficult for us to select any spot along 
the river which had not been the scene of a killing. 
So we took the kettle and left a stout, snug cabin 
and pushed on through the darkness to the top of a 
low ridge, where I insisted we must camp. We 
made no fire. 

I estimated the day’s travel to have been twelve 
miles at the least, which was a good stint for a man, 
let alone a girl unused to the forest. Nor had the 
work wearied her unduly. At least she had gained 
something from her captivity — a strength to endure 
physical . hardships which she had never known 
before. With good luck and half-way decent foot- 
ing I believed another sunset would find us at the 
Big Sandy. That night was cold and I sorely re- 
gretted our lack of blankets. 

Before sunrise I had a fire burning and the ket- 
tle of mush slung on a green sapling for further 
cooking. Patricia was curled up like a kitten, and 
I recovered my hunting-shirt and slipped it on with- 
out her knowing I had loaned it to her for a cov- 
ering. She opened her eyes and watched me a few 
moments without comprehending where she was. 
With a little cry she jumped to her feet and roundly 
unbraided me for not calling her to help in the work. 

I pointed out a spring, and by the time she was 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


296 

ready to eat the hot mush and cold turkey, the fire 
was out and we were ready to march. Our lack of 
salt was all that prevented the meal from being very 
appetizing. We were not inclined to quarrel with 
our good fortune, however, but ate enough to last 
us the day. As the first rays touched the tops of 
the trees we resumed the journey. 

We covered a good ten miles when we had our 
first serious mishap since leaving the Indian vil- 
lage. Patricia had insisted she be allowed to take 
the lead where the blazed trees made the trace easy 
to follow. I humored her, for she kept within a 
rod of me. We struck into a bottom and had to 
pick our way through a stretch of cane. 

Afraid she might stumble on to a bear and be 
sadly frightened, I called on her to wait for me. 
But she discovered a blaze on a sycamore beyond 
the cane and hurried forward. Half-way through 
the cane she slipped on a wet root and fell on her 
side. Ordinarily the accident would not have been 
serious, but the moment I saw the expression of 
pain driving her face white I knew she was hurt. 
I dropped the kettle and picked her up. She winced 
and groaned and said it was her arm. I carried her 
to the high ground and made her sit while I exam- 
ined her hurt. I expected to find the bone broken. 
I was happily disappointed, and yet she was hurt 
grievously enough. A section of cane had pene- 
trated the upper arm near the shoulder, making a 


BACK TO THE BLUE WALL 


297 


nasty wound. As the cane had broken off in the 
flesh it was necessary for me to play the surgeon. 
Using a pair of bullet-molds I managed to secure a 
grip on the ugly splinter and pull it out. She gave 
a little yelp, but did not move. 

“The worst is over,” I told her. “Now we must 
dress it.” 

Returning and securing the kettle, I dipped water 
from a spring and lighted a fire and hung the kettle 
to boil. Then I hunted for Indian medicine. I 
soon found it, the bark of a linn or bee-tree root. 
This I pounded and bruised with the butt of my 
rifle and threw it into the kettle to boil. Patricia 
remained very patient and quiet, her eyes following 
my every move; 

“You're as useful as a housewife, Basdel,” she 
remarked. “More useful than most women could 
be.” 

“Only a trick learned from the environment,” I 
lightly replied. “Does it hurt much?” This was 
rhetorical, for I knew a stab wound from the cane 
smarted and ached most disagreeably. 

“Not much,” she bravely replied. “I’m sorry to 
bother you, though.” 

“You’ll soon be as fit as a fiddle,” I assured her. 
“Border men are continually helping each other in 
this fashion.” 

As soon as the kettle boiled I washed the wound 
in the liquid and made sure all of the cane had been 


r A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


298 

removed. This additional probing caused her pain 
but she showed no signs not even by flinching. The 
application at once had a soothing effect. We 
waited until the medicine had cooked down to a 
jelly-like consistency, when I applied it as a salve* 
working it into and thoroughly covering the wound. 
Then I tied it up with a strip torn from her skirt. 
Rather rough surgery, but I knew it would be ef- 
fective. 

She bitterly lamented over the time we were los- 
ing, and blamed herself so severely that I finally 
consented to go on, providing she would keep behind 
me. Had the hurt been in her foot we would have 
been forced to camp for several days. 

Toward night the country grew more broken and 
much rougher, and I knew we were nearing the 
Sandy. I feared she might trip over some obstacle, 
and we camped before the light deserted us. I told 
her we were within a few miles of the river and that 
we ought to strike it at the mouth of Savage Creek, 
some four or five miles from the Ohio. After start- 
ing a fire, she volunteered to remain and feed it 
while I looked for game. This in the way of doing 
penance, perhaps. I had the good luck to shoot a 
deer and we dined on venison. 

After we had eaten she sat close by the fire and 
was silent for many minutes. That she was medi- 
tating deeply was shown by her indifference to the 
night sounds which usually perturbed her. The 


BACK TO THE BLUE WALL 


299 


howling of the wolves, and the scream of a panther, 
leaping to make a kill, passed unheard. Suddenly 
she declared : 

“You were right, Basdel.” 

“About what, Patsy ?” 

“About my not fitting in west of the mountains/’ 

“That was said before you were tried. No wom- 
an, even border-born, could be more brave than 
you have been.” 

“And I was so woefully wrong when I made fun 
of your long rifle. I want you to forgive me.” 

“Patsy, don’t. You are wonderful.” 

“Still being good to me, Basdel. But I know the 
truth now. Back over the mountains I was wicked 
enough to feel a little superior to frontier folks. No. 
Don’t wave your hands at me. I must say it. I 
even felt a little bit of contempt for those brave 
women who went barefooted. God forgive me! I 
was a cat, Basdel. A vicious cat!” 

“Good heavens, Patsy ! Say it all and have done 
with it. Call yourself a pirate.” 

She would not respond to my banter, but fell to 
staring into the handful of coals. Then the tears 
began streaming down her face, and at last she 
sobbed : 

“Poor girl! Poor girl! She was a wonderful 
friend to me. She never had any chance, and you 
can never know how hard she tried to keep my 
spirits up; how ready she was to stand between 


300 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


me and harm-— me, who has had every chance! 
And to end like that ! And yet it was far worse to 
live like that. It’s best as it is, but God must be 
very good to her to make up for what she lost. 
Tell me, Basdel, did she suffer much when she 
died?” 

She could be talking only of Cousin's sister. I 
declared : 

“She suffered none. It’s best for her as it is.” 

She fell asleep with her back against a black 
walnut, and I spread my hunting-shirt over her, 
for the air was shrewdly cool. In the dying coals 
I saw pictures, wherein Kirst, Dale, and Lost Sister 
paraded in turn ; the fate of each the result of race- 
hatred, and a race-avidity to possess the land. And 
a great fear came over me that the girl leaning 
against the walnut, the mass of blue-black hair 
seeming to bow down the proud head, was destined 
to be added to the purchase-price the frontier was 
ever paying. 

It was her talk and tears that induced this mood, 
for I knew the Shawnees would have overtaken us 
by this time had they found our trail on the Ken- 
tucky shore. Common sense told me that for the 
remainder of our journey we would, at worst, be 
compelled to avoid small scouting-parties that had 
no intimation of our presence on the Big Sandy. 

But so many gruesome pranks had been played 
by Fate that I was growing superstitious. And I 


BACK TO THE BLUE WALL 


301 


feared lest the girl should be snatched from me at 
the last moment, just as safety was almost within 
sight. I slept poorly that night and what little rest 
I did obtain was along toward morning. 

The girl awoke me; and I felt my face burning 
as I beheld her standing there, staring down accus- 
ingly, the hunting-shirt spread across my chest. I 
sprang to my feet and slipped into the shirt, which 
was made like a coat, and waited for her to speak. 

“So you’ve been sleeping cold,” she said. 

“Nay. Very warm,” I replied, becoming busy 
with my moccasins. 

“After this I will keep awake nights.” 

“I did not need it. I always take it off at night 
It makes me too warm.” 

“You lie most beautifully, Basdel.” 

“How is the arm this morning?” 

“Much better. But you must be more honest 
with me. You must not lie any more.” 

“You’re making a mountain out of a hunting- 
shirt. It is too warm to wear at night in this mild 
weather.” 

“You’re hopeless. Of course it is not too warm 
in the warm sunshine.” 

I was glad to let it go at that. And there was 
no warm sunshine this morning. The heavens were 
overcast with gray cold clouds that rode high and 
brought wind rather than rain. We missed the sun. 
Town-dwellers can never know the degree of de- 


3°2 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


pendence the forest wanderer places on the sunlight 
for his comfort and good cheer. Despair becomes 
gaiety under the genial rays. It is not surprising 
the sun should be the greatest of all mysteries to the 
Indians, and therefore their greatest medicine or 
god. 

We ate of the venison and mush and started for 
the river. The distance was not great, but the way 
was very rough, and there were no more blazed 
trees to guide us, the surveyors’ trace passing below 
us and closer to the shore. But I was familiar with 
the lay of the land and it was impossible for me to 
go far wrong as long as all streams flowed into the 
Ohio and we crossed at right angles with their 
general course. 

I carried the kettle slung on my rifle and with my 
right hand gave the girl aid when the path became 
unusually difficult. A wrenched ankle would leave 
us as helpless as a broken leg. It required three 
hours of painful effort to bring us to the Sandy, 

I found a fording and carried her across to the 
east shore and soon located a trader’s trace. She 
never dreamed that her father often had traveled 
along this faint path in his visits to the Ohio Indians. 
Now that the footing was easier she had time to 
gaze about, and the aspect depressed her. 

The immense hills of sandrock were worn into 
deep and gloomy ravines by the streams. In the 
walls of the ravines black holes gaped, for caves 


BACK TO THE BLUE WALL 


303 


were almost as numerous as springs. To encourage 
a lighter mood I explained that these very caves 
made the country an ideal place for hiding from the 
Indians. 

She broke into my talk by moaning: 

“May the good God help us ! See that !” 

She was pointing to a dark opening across the 
river. This framed the face of the devil. For a 
moment I was sadly startled, then laughed hysteri- 
cally in relief. 

“It’s a bear, with a white or gray marking on his 
face/’ I explained. “He is harmless. See! He’s 
finished looking us over and goes back into his den.” 

But the effect of the shock to her nerves did not 
wear off for some time. To prepare her against 
more glimpses of bruin I told her how the broken 
nature of the country made it a favorite region for 
bears, and that it had been long known along the 
border as a famous hunting-ground for the big 
creatures. 

“I feel just as if it was the guardian spirit of an 
evil place, that it is spying on us and plotting to 
harm us,” she confessed. 

Whenever the trace permitted I swung aside from 
the river and took to the ridges. The tops of these 
were covered with chestnuts and their sides with 
oaks. More than once on such detours I sighted 
furtive furry forms slipping away from their feast 
on the fallen nuts, but Patricia’s gaze was not suf- 


304 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


ficiently trained to detect them; and she wandered 
through the groves without knowing we were liter- 
ally surrounded by bears. 

While a wild country, it was relieved by many 
beautiful touches. Such were the tulip- trees, or 
yellow poplar. Many of them towered a hundred 
feet with scarcely a limb to mar the wand-like sym- 
metry of the six-foot boles. Scarcely less inspiring 
were the cucumber-trees, or mountain magnolias, 
which here reached the perfection of growth. 

Scattered among these tall ones were white and 
yellow oaks; and they would be considered giants 
if standing alone. These were the serene gods of 
the forest, and they had a quieting influence on my 
companion. It was with regret that I led her back 
along the rough shore of the river. 

I shot a young bear, but Patricia displayed a fool- 
ish repugnance and would eat none of it. Later in 
the day I killed a deer with such a minute charge of 
powder as emphatically to establish my excellence 
as a marksman for that one shot at least. We were 
nearly three days in making the Tug Fork of the 
Sandy* 

The girl bore the hardships well. The wound on 
her arm healed rapidly, and whatever she actually 
suffered was mental rather than physical. Our 
kettle proved second only to my rifle in importance, 
and if the fare lacked the savor of salt our appetites 
made up for the deficit. When we reached the Tug 
we were in the region celebrated for Colonel Andrew 


BACK TO THE BLUE WALL 305 

Lewis’ “Sandy Creek Voyage of Fifty-six,” as it 
was styled with grim facetiousness. 

It was one instance when Colonel Lewis failed of 
carrying out an enterprise against the Indians. It 
was a retaliatory raid against the Shawnees and his 
force was composed of whites and Cherokees; and 
his lack of success was due largely to the inefficiency 
of the guides who undertook to pilot him to the 
mouth of the Sandy. I told the girl of the expe- 
dition as it was lacking in horrible details, and with 
other carefully selected narratives tried to keep her 
from brooding. 

She seldom mentioned her father, and when she 
did it was usually connected with some phase of life 
over the mountains. I believe that she was so 
thankful to know he escaped the torture that his 
death lost much of poignancy. Only once did she 
revert to his taking off, and then to ask : 

“Was there a single chance for him to escape?” 

And I emphatically declared he never had the 
ghost of a chance from the moment he fell into 
Black Hoofs hands. 

Another ruse to keep her mind engaged was to 
trace out our course with a stick on a patch of bare 
earth,, I showed how we should travel to the north 
fork of the Sandy and then strike to the head of 
Bluestone, and follow it nearly to the mouth before 
leaving it to cross New River; then a short journey 
to the Greenbriar and Howard’s Creek. 

Had I had any choice I should have preferred to 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


3°6 

take her over the mountains to Salem, but my time 
was not my own and it was imperative that I leave 
her at the first place of safety and be about Gover- 
nor Dunmore’s business. My decision to make 
Howard’s Creek was strengthened by an adventure 
which befell us near the end of our first day on the 
Tug. We were casting about for a place to camp 
when we came upon five Indians, three squaws and 
two hunters. 

Patricia was greatly frightened on beholding 
them, and it was some time before I could make 
her understand that they were friendly Delawares, 
accompanied by their women, and not painted nor 
equipped for war. After calming fier I addressed 
them and learned they were from White Eye’s vil- 
lage. They were afraid to go near the settlements. 

Many “Long Knives,” as they called the Virginia 
militia, were flocking to the Great Levels of the 
Greenbriar, and a forward movement of a whole 
army was shortly to be expected. As the presence 
of a large force of our riflemen so near Howard’s 
Creek would insure the safety of that settlement 
I knew it to be the proper ending of our journey. 

I induced Patricia to remain in camp with the 
Indians while I went out and shot a bear. The 
bear was very fat and I gave all the meat to the 
natives, for which they were grateful. One 
of them had a smoothbore, but no powder. I could 
spare him none. 


BACK TO THE BLUE WALL 307 

Patricia was now convinced the Indians would 
not harm us, but she would not consent to making 
camp near them. We walked several more miles be- 
fore she was willing to stop and cook the kettle. 

My tally-stick gave the thirteenth of September 
as the date of our arrival at Howard’s Creek. The 
settlers informed me I had lost a day somewhere on 
the long journey and that it was the fourteenth. 
Nearly all the young and unmarried men were off 
to fight in Colonel Lewis’ army, and many of the 
heads of families, including Davis and Moulton. 

Those who were left behind gave us a royal wel- 
come. Uncle Dick, the aged one, fell to sharpening 
his long knife with renewed vigor. Patricia and I 
had been counted as dead. Dale’s death had been 
reported by young Cousin, and it caused no great 
amount of sorrow. The girl was never allowed to 
suspect this indifference. In reply to my eager 
inquiries I was told that Shelby Cousin was at the 
Great Levels, serving as a scout. 

For once Howard’s Creek felt safe. With noth- 
ing to worry about the men and women became gar- 
rulous as crows. The children played “Lewis’ 
Army” from sunrise to sunset. The Widow Mc- 
Cabe swore she would put on a hunting-shirt and 
breeches and go to war. The passing of men be- 
tween the levels and the creek resulted in some 
news and many rumors. The meeting-place at the 
levels was called Camp Union. Colonel Lewis, pur- 


3°8 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


suant to orders from Governor Dunmore, had com- 
menced assembling the Augusta, Botetourt and Fin- 
castle County troops at the levels on August twenty- 
seven. Cornstalk’s spies had served him well ! 

His Lordship was to lead an army, raised from 
the northwest counties and from the vicinity of 
Fort Pitt, down the Ohio and unite with Colonel 
Lewis at the mouth of the Great Kanawha. Col- 
onel Charles Lewis, with some Augusta and Bote- 
tourt troops, had left Camp Union on September 
sixth to drive the cattle and four hundred pack- 
animals to the mouth of the Elk, where he was to 
make canoes for transporting provisions to the 
Ohio. 

The main army had marched from Camp Union 
on the twelfth, although Colonel Lewis had received 
a letter from Dunmore, urging that the rendezvous 
be changed to the mouth of the Little Kanawha. 
Colonel Lewis had replied it was impossible to 
alter his line of march. 

From a fellow sent out to round up stray bullocks 
I learned the army would avoid the deep gorge and 
falls in the river by marching ten miles inland and 
parallel to the east bank, joining Colonel Charles 
Lewis at the Elk. 

By another man I was told how the militia men 
were given to shooting away their precious ammu- 
nition, and how the colonel had warned that unless 
the practise ceased no more powder would be given 


BACK TO THE BLUE WALL 


309 


out. That the Indians were active and not afraid 
of the troops was evidenced by an attack on Stew- 
art’s Fort, only four miles from Camp Union. And 
this, before the troops marched. 

Colonel William Christian was in command of 
the rear-guard, and his men were much disgruntled 
at the thought of not being in the forefront of the 
fighting. What was most significant to me, al- 
though only an incident in the estimation of the 
men left at Howard’s Creek, was the attack made 
by two Indians on two of Lewis’ scouts. Clay and 
Coward by name. 

The scouts had separated and one of the Indians 
fired on and killed Clay. Thinking him to be alone, 
the Indians ran to get his scalp, and Coward at a 
distance of a hundred yards shot him dead. Cow- 
ard then ran back toward the line of march and 
the surviving Indian fled down the Great Kanawha 
to inform the Shawnee towns that the Long Knives 
were coming. 

I lost no time in securing a horse and a supply 
of powder and in hurrying to say good-by to Pa- 
tricia. She was very sober when I told her I was 
off to overtake the army. Placing both hands on 
my shoulders, she said: 

“Basdel, I know you’ve forgiven all the disagree- 
able things I’ve said to you. I will wait here until 
I hear from you. I will pray that you have an equal 
chance with the other brave men.” 


3 IQ 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


“l will come back and take you over the moun- 
tains.” 

“If you will only come back you may take me 
where you will, dear lad, even if it be deeper into 
the wilderness,” she softly promised. 

And Mrs. Davis bustled out of the cabin and ener- 
getically shooed the curious youngsters away. 

And now I was riding away to battle, riding 
right joyously over the chestnut ridges and through 
the thick laurel, through stretches of pawpaw, 
beech and flowering poplar, with the pea-vine and 
buffalo grass soft underfoot. And my heart was as 
blithe as the mocking-bird's and there was no 
shadow of tomahawk or scalping-knife across my 
path. 

I knew the destiny of the border was soon to be 
settled, that it hinged on the lean, leather-faced 
riflemen ahead, but there was nothing but sunshine 
and glory for me in that September day as I ha- 
stened to overtake the grim-faced man who believed 
His Lordship, John Murray, fourth Earl of Dun- 
more, Viscount Fincastle, Baron of Blair, Monlin 
and of Tillimet, was Virginia's last royal governor. 


CHAPTER XII 


THE SHADOWS VANISH 

T FOLLOWED the river, the cord of the bow, and 
A made good time where the army would have had 
difficulty to get through. A dozen miles below the 
falls and near the mouth of Kelly’s Creek, where 
Walter Kelly was killed by the Indians early in 
August, I came upon a scout named Nooney. We 
were on the west bank and the river was two hun- 
dred yards wide at that point. Nooney begged 
some tobacco and pointed out a fording-place and 
gave me the “parole.” This, very fittingly, was 
“Kanawha.” He said I would speedily make the 
camp and that Colonel Lewis was with the first 
troops. 

I lost no time in crossing and had barely cleared 
the river-bank before I was held up by an outpost. 
This fellow knew nothing of military red-tape. He 
was plain militia, a good man in a fight, but in- 
clined to resent discipline. He grinned affably as 
I broke through the woods and lowered his rifle. 

“Gim’me some tobacker,” he demanded good- 
naturedly. 


3ii 


3 12 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


“I suppose you’d want the parole,” I replied, fish- 
ing out a twist of Virginia leaf. 

“I got that. It’s ‘Kanawha/ What I want is 
tobacker. Don’t hurry. Le’s talk. I’m lonesome 
as one bug all alone in a buffler robe. See any 
footin’ over ’cross? I’m gittin’ tired o’ this out- 
post business. All foolishness. We’ll know when 
we strike th’ red devils. No need o’ havin’ some 
one tell us. Your hoss looks sorter peaked. S’pose 
we’ll have a mess of a fight soon? We boys come 
along to fight, not to stand like stockade-timbers 
out here all alone.” 

I told him I had important news for Colonel 
Lewis and must not tarry. He took it rather ill 
because I would not tell him my news, then tried 
to make me promise I would come back and impart 
it. I equivocated and led my horse on toward the 
camp, concealed from view of the river-bank by a 
ribbon of woods. The first man I met was Davis, 
and the honest fellow was so rejoiced to see me 
that he dropped his gun and took both my hands 
and stood there with his mouth working, but unable 
to say a word. Big tears streamed down his face. 

I hurriedly related my adventures, and his joy 
was treble when he heard that Patricia was safe at 
Howard’s Creek. 

“Shelby Cousin shot and kilt Dale. He told us 
'bout that. Ericus thought he knew it all. Wal, 
them that lives longest learns th’ most,” he philo- 


THE SHADOWS VANISH 


3i3 


sophically observed. “Powerful glad to see you. 
We’ll be seein’ more of each other, I take it. How’s 
my woman? Good. She’s a right forward, cap- 
able woman, if I do say it. Moulton’s out on a 
scout. Silent sort of a cuss these days from thinkin’ 
’bout his woman an’ th’ children. But a rare hand 
in a mess.” 

“And Cousin?” 

“Say, Morris, that feller acts like he was reg’lar 
happy. Laughs a lot, only it don’t sound nat’ral. 
He’s a hellion at scoutin’. Poor Baby Kirst! I 
must ’low it’s best for him to be wiped out, but it’s 
too bad he couldn’t ’a’ made his last fight along 
with us. There’s th’ colonel in his shirt-sleeves 
smokin’ his pipe.” 

I passed on to where Lewis was sitting on a log. 
It was fearfully hot, as the high hills on each side 
of the river shut out the free air and made the camp 
an oven. On recognizing me, the colonel’s eyes 
flickered with surprise, as the report of my capture 
had spread far. He rose and took my hand and 
quietly said: 

“I knew they couldn’t hold you unless they 
killed you on the spot. What about Miss Dale?” 

I informed him of her safety and his face lighted 
wonderfully. 

“That’s good!” he softly exclaimed. “A beau- 
tiful young woman, the kind that Virginia is always 
proud of. Ericus Dale was lucky to die without 


314 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


being tortured. Now for your news; for you must 
be bringing some.” 

I told him of the mighty gathering at Chillicothe 
and of the influx of the fierce Ottawas. Lost Sis- 
ter's warning to me to keep clear of the Great 
Kanawha impressed him deeply. It convinced him, 
I think, that the astute Cornstalk had planned to 
attack the army before it could cross the Ohio, and 
that the Shawnees on learning of the assembling at 
the levels knew the advance must be down the 
Kanawha. The Indian who escaped after Clay was 
killed was back on the Scioto by this time. After 
musing over it for a bit he insisted that it did not 
necessarily follow the attack would be in force. 

“That was Cornstalk’s first plan. But now he 
knows Governor Dunmore has an army at the 
mouth of the Little Kanawha. He may choose to 
attack him instead of me. I hope not, but there’s 
a strong chance he’ll do that while making a feint 
to fool me, and then float down the river and give 
me a real battle.” 

He kindly offered to attach me to one of the com- 
panies as sergeant, with the possibility of appoint- 
ing me an ensign, but I preferred to act as scout and 
enjoy more independence of action. 

“That’s the trouble,” he remarked. “All these 
fellows want to be scouts and range the woods free 
of discipline. They want to whip the Indians but 
they want to do it their own way. They persist in 


THE SHADOWS VANISH 


3i5 


wasting ammunition, and it now looks as if we 
would go into battle with less than one-fourth of a 
pound of powder per man. 

“If any man speaks up and says he is the best 
marksman in Virginia then every man within hear- 
ing challenges him to prove it. And they’ll step one 
side and have a shooting-match, even if they know 
Cornstalk’s army is within a couple , of miles of us. 
They’re used to bear- and deer-meat. They don’t 
want to eat bullock-meat. I’ll admit the beef is a 
bit tough. And every morning some of them break 
the rules by stealing out to kill game. This not only 
wastes powder, but keeps the outposts alarmed.” 

Before I was dismissed I asked about Cousin. 
The colonel’s face became animated. 

“Oh, the young man with the sad history? He’s 
out on a scout. That fellow is absolutely fearless. 
I am surprised every time he lives to return to 
make a report. It’s useless to lay down a route for 
him to scout; he prowls where he will. But he’s 
valuable, and we let him have his own way.” 

On the next day we marched to the mouth of the 
Elk where Colonel Charles Lewis was completing 
arrangements for transporting the supplies down 
the river. While at that camp I went on my first 
scout and found Indian tracks. One set of them 
measured fourteen inches in length. The men went 
and looked at the signs before they would accept 
my measurements. 


316 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


The camp was extremely busy, for we all knew 
the crisis was drawing close. Our armorer worked 
early and late unbreeching the guns having wet 
charges. Three brigades of horses were sent back 
to Camp Union for more flour. I went with 
Mooney on a scout up Coal River and we found 
Indian signs four miles from camp. Other scouts 
were sent down the Kanawha and up the Elk. 

On returning, I found Cousin impatiently wait- 
ing for me to come in. He had changed and his 
bearing puzzled me. He was given to laughing 
loudly at the horse-play of the men, yet his eyes 
never laughed. I took him outside the camp and 
without any circumlocution related the facts con- 
cerning his sister and Kirst. 

“Tell me again that part ’bout how she died,” he 
quietly requested when I had finished. I did so. 
He commented: 

“For killing that redskin I owe you more’n I 
would if you’d saved my life a thousand times. So 
little sister is dead. No, not that. Now that wom- 
an is dead I have my little sister back again. I 
took on with this army so’s I could reach the Scioto 
towns. To think that Kirst got way up there! I 
’low he had a man’s fight to die in. That’s the way. 
Morris, I’m obleeged to you. I’ll always remember 
her words ’bout sendin’ a little sister to me. Now 
I’ve got two of ’em. We won’t talk no more ’bout 
it.” 


THE SHADOWS VANISH 317 

With that he turned and hurried into the woods. 

The men continued firing their guns without 
having obtained permission, and Colonel Lewis was 
thoroughly aroused to stop the practise. He di- 
rected that his orders of the fifteenth be read at the 
head of each company, with orders for the captains 
to inspect their men’s stock of ammunition and 
report those lacking powder. This reduced the 
waste, but there was no stopping the riflemen from 
popping away at bear or deer once they were out 
of sight of their officers. 

I had hoped Cousin would return and be my com- 
panion on the next scout, but as he failed to show 
up I set off with Mooney for a second trip up the 
Coal. This time we discovered signs of fifteen 
Indians making toward the Kanawha below the 
camp. We returned with the news and found a 
wave of drunkenness had swept the camp during 
our absence. 

The sutlers were ordered to bring no more liquor 
into camp, and to sell from the supply on hand only 
on a captain’s written order. This served to sober 
the offenders speedily. The scouts sent down the 
Kanawha returned and reported two fires and five 
Indians within fifteen miles of the Ohio. It was 
plain that the Indians were dogging our steps day 
and night, and the men were warned not to straggle. 

We were at the Elk Camp from the twenty-fourth 
to the thirtieth, and on the latter date the canoemen 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


318 

loaded their craft, and the pack-horse men and bul- 
lock-drivers drew two days’ rations and started 
down-river. It rained for three days and on Octo- 
ber second we were camped near the mouth of the 
Coal. It was there that Cousin appeared, a Mingo 
scalp hanging at his belt. He informed Colonel 
Lewis he had been to the mouth of the river, making 
the down-trip in a canoe, and that as yet no Indians 
had crossed except small bands of scouts. 

Breaking camp, we encountered rich bottom- 
lands, difficult to traverse because of the rain. 
Every mile or two there were muddy creeks, and the 
pack-horses were nearly worn out. Several deser- 
tions were now reported from the troops, a hostility 
to discipline rather than cowardice being the incen- 
tive. Another trouble was the theft of supplies. 

As we advanced down the river signs of small 
bands of Indians became numerous ; scarcely a scout 
returned without reporting some. I saw nothing of 
Cousin until the sixth of October, and as we were 
finishing an eight-mile march through long defiles 
and across small runs and were entering the bottom 
which extends for four miles to the Ohio. The 
first that I knew he was with us was when he walked 
at my side and greeted : 

“There’s goin’ to be a screamin’ big fight.” 

He offered no explanation of his absence and I 
asked him nothing. It had required five weeks to 
march eleven hundred men one hundred and sixty 


THE SHADOWS VANISH 


3i9 

miles and to convey the necessary supplies the same 
distance. 

As we scouts in the lead entered the bottom Cousin 
called my attention to the high-water marks on the 
trees. Some of these measured ten feet. The 
Point itself is high. From it we had a wide view 
of the Ohio and Kanawha, up- and down-stream. 
It was Cousin who discovered a writing made fast 
to a tree, calling attention to a paper concealed in 
the hollow at the base of the tree. We fished it out 
and found it was addressed to Colonel Lewis. 
Cousin and I took it to him. Before opening it, he 
gave Cousin a shrewd glance and remarked : 

“I am glad to see you back, young man.” 

“If Eve read the signs right I ’low I’m glad to 
git back,” was the grave reply. 

The letter was from Governor Dunmore, and he 
wrote to complain because our colonel had not 
joined him at the Little Kanawha. He now in- 
formed our commander he had dropped down to the 
mouth of the Big Hockhocking, and we were ex- 
pected to join him there. After frowning over the 
communication, Colonel Lewis read it aloud to some 
of his officers and expressed himself very force- 
fully. It was soon camp gossip, and every man 
was free to discuss it. 

Much anger was expressed against Governor 
Dunmore. And it did seem absurd to ask our army 
to move up the Ohio some sixty miles when such a 


320 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


tedious maneuver would lead us farther from the 
Indian towns than we were while at the Point. Had 
the order been given for the army to go to the 
Hockhocking there would have been many deser- 
tions. 

I learned later that the letter was brought to the 
Point by Simon Kenton and Simon Girty, who with 
Michael Cresap were serving as scouts with Dun- 
more. While the camp was busily criticizing the 
governor our scouts from the Elk came in and re- 
ported seeing Indians hunting buffalo. When 
within six miles of the Point, they found a plow- 
share, some surveying-instruments, a shirt, a light 
blue coat and a human under jaw-bone. 

Shelby Cousin said the dead man was Thomas 
Hoog, who with two or three of his men were re- 
ported killed by the Indians in the preceding April 
while making improvements. Cousin insisted his 
death had been due to wild animals or an accident, 
after which the animals had dragged his remains 
into the woods. He argued that an Indian would 
never have left the coat or the instruments. 

We passed the seventh and eighth of the month 
in making the camp sanitary and in building a 
shelter for the supplies yet to arrive down the river. 
Preparations also went ahead for moving the army 
across the Ohio. Most of the scouts were sent out 
to hunt up lost beeves, while a sergeant and squad 
were despatched with canoes to the Elk after flour. 


THE SHADOWS VANISH 


321 


Three men came in from the Elk and reported 
that Colonel Christian was camped there with two 
hundred and twenty men, that he had only sixteen 
kettles, and was fearing his men would be ill from 
eating too much roast meat “without broth.” On 
the eighth there arrived more letters from Gover- 
nor Dunmore, in which His Lordship expressed his 
surprise and annoyance because of our failure to 
appear at the Hockhocking. 

This time Colonel Lewis was quite open in ex- 
pressing his disgust at the governor’s lack of 
strategy. The Kanawha was the gate to Augusta, 
Botetourt and Fincastle Counties. To leave it and 
move up-river would leave the way open for the red 
army to stream into Virginia and work its savagery 
while the colonials were cooped up on the Ohio or 
hunting Indian wigwams in the wilderness. 

In the package was a letter to our colonel from 
Colonel Adam Stephens, second in command to His 
Excellency, which was given wide publicity. Col- 
onel Stephens reported very disagreeable news from 
Boston. It was to the effect that General Gage had 
fired on the people at Cambridge. Later we learned 
that while some gun-powder and two cannon had 
been seized by Llis Majesty’s troops there had been 
no massacre of the provincials. But while the 
rumor remained uncontradicted it caused high ex- 
citement and great rage. 

On the evening of the ninth Cousin and I were 


322 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


ordered out to scout up the river beyond Old Town 
Creek. Our camp was near the junction of the 
Kanawha and the Ohio, almost at the tip of the 
Point. About a fourth of a mile to the east is 
Crooked Creek, a very narrow stream at that season 
of the year, with banks steep and muddy. It skirts 
the base of some low hills and flows nearly south in 
emptying into the Kanawha. Half-way between our 
camp and Old Town Creek, which empties into the 
Ohio, is a small stretch of marsh-land extending 
north and south, with bottom-lands on each side. 

Cousin and I planned to keep along the Ohio 
shore until a few miles above Old Town Creek,, when 
we would separate, one returning along our course 
to keep an eye on the river, the other circling to the 
east and swinging back through the low hills 
drained by Crooked Creek. This double reconnais- 
sance should reveal any spies. 

The men were very anxious to cross the river and 
come in contact with the Indians. They believed 
they would have the allied tribes within their grasp 
once they reached the Scioto. They were cheered 
by the report that the army would cross on the mor- 
row. One tall Watauga boy boastfully proclaimed 
that all the Shawnees and Mingos beyond the Ohio 
wouldn’t “make more’n a breakfast for us.” Davis, 
because a man of family and more conservative, 
insisted it would be a “pretty tough chunk of a 
fight.” 


THE SHADOWS VANISH 


323 


This was the optimistic spirit Cousin and I left 
behind us when we set out at sunset. Cousin was in 
a new mood. There was a certain wild gaiety, 
rather a ferocious gaiety, in his bearing. His 
drawn face had lost some of the hard lines and 
looked almost boyish and his eyes were feverishly 
alight. He seemed possessed of superabundant 
physical strength, and in pure muscular wantonness 
went out of his way to leap the fallen timbers which 
littered the shore. 

As darkness increased he ceased his wild play and 
became the prince of scouts. We advanced most 
leisurely, for we had all night if we cared to stay 
out. We halted when abreast of the marsh-land and 
seated ourselves on the banks of the Ohio and 
watched the starlight find a mirror in the water. 
After a protracted silence he abruptly asked : 

“My sister said she was sendin’ me a new sister, 
you say?” 

“Those were her words.” 

“I wish she could know to-night I ain’t needin’ 
any new sister. Wish she could know right now 
that she’s always been my sister. When I reck- 
oned I’d lost her I was just mistook. She was just 
gone away for a little while. She found a mighty 
hard an’ rough trace to travel. I ’low the Almighty 
will have to give her many belts afore He smooths 
out the path in her mind. I ’low it’ll take a heap o’ 
presents to make up for the burrs an’ briers an’ 


324 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


sharp stones she had to foot it over. Thank God 
she died white!” 

“Amen to that!” 

After another silence he asked : 

“You ’low she’s with daddy an’ mammy?” 

“I do.” 

“That’s mighty comfortin’ to figger on,” he 
slowly mused. “Much like a younker gittin’ mighty 
tired an’ goin’ back home to rest. Daddy an’ mam- 
my will do a heap to make it up to her for what she 
had to go through. Yes, I can count on ’em, even 
if the Almighty happened to be too busy to notice 
her when she first crossed the border.” 

Dear lad ! He meant no irreverence. 

The night was calm and sounds carried easily. 
We had passed beyond where we could hear the 
men singing and merry-making in camp, but the 
uneasy movements of a turkey and the stealthy re- 
treat of a deer seemed very close at hand. The 
soft pad-pad of a woods cat approached within a 
few feet before the creature caught the scent, and 
the retreat was marked by a series of crashings 
through the undergrowth. 

After a while we rose and continued up the 
river. 

“No Injuns along here,” murmured Cousin. 

We reached Old Town Creek and crossed it with- 
out discovering any signs of the enemy ; nor were we 
looking for anything more serious than a stray 
scout or two. We went nearly two miles above the 


THE SHADOWS VANISH 


325 


creek and turned back after deciding we would 
separate at the creek, he taking the hills route and 
I following the river. We reached the creek and 
he was about to leave me when we both heard a 
new note, a splashing noise, very faint. Our hands 
met in a mutual desire to grab an arm and enforce 
attention. 

“No fish made it/' I whispered. 

“No fish,” he agreed. “There!” 

The splashing came from across the several hun- 
dred yards of the Ohio’s deep and silent current. 
It was repeated until it became almost continuous, 
and it gradually grew louder. 

“Rafts!” shrilly whispered Cousin. 

“They are paddling fast.” 

“No! But there are many rafts,” he corrected. 

We retreated up-stream a short distance and con- 
cealed ourselves in a deep growth. To the sound of 
poles and paddles was added the murmuring of gut- 
tural voices. Then for a climax a raft struck 
against the bank and a low voice speaking Shawnee 
gave some sharp orders. 

“One!” counted Cousin. 

As he spoke another raft took the shore, and then 
they grounded so rapidly that it was impossible to 
count them. Orders were given, and the Indians 
worked back from the river and proceeded to make 
a night-camp. The landing had been made at the 
mouth of the creek, but the savages had spread out, 
and some of them were due east from us. 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


326 

“There’s a heap of ’em !” whispered Cousin. 
“Lucky for us they didn’t fetch any dawgs along, 
or we’d be smelled out an’ have to leg it.” 

“I hear squaws talking.” 

“Kiss the devil if you don’t ! There’s boys’ 
voices, too. They’ve fetched their squaws an’ boys 
along to knock the wounded an’ dyin’ in the head.” 

“Then that means they feel sure of winning.” 

And my heart began thumping until I feared its 
beating would be audible at a distance. And before 
my inner gaze appeared a picture of Lewis’ army 
defeated and many victims being given over to the 
stake. 

“Keep shet!” cautioned Cousin. “There it is 
again! A Mingo talkin’, a Seneca, I’d say — Hear 
that jabber! Delaware — Wyandot — Taway 
(Ottawa). With a blanket o’ Shawnee pow-wow. 
By heavens, Morris! This is Cornstalk’s whole 
force. * They’ve learned that Dunmore is at the 
Hockhockin’ an’ will be j’inin’ up with Lewis any 
day, an’ old Cornstalk thinks to lick Lewis afore 
Dunmore’s men can git along!” 

It was now after midnight, and I knew we should 
be back at camp and warning Colonel Lewis of his 
peril. I knew from my last talk with him that he 
did not expect to meet the Indians in any numbers 
until we had crossed the Ohio. Our failure to find 
any Indians at the Point and our prospects for an 
immediate crossing conduced to this belief. 


THE SHADOWS VANISH 327 

The day before all the scouts had been instructed 
as to our maneuvers once we crossed the river and 
were searching for ambushes. It was terrible to 
think of our army asleep only three miles away. I 
urged an immediate return, but Cousin coolly re- 
fused to go until he had reconnoitered further. 

“You stay here till Eve sneaked down to the 
mouth o’ the creek,” he whispered. “ ’Twon’t do 
for both of us to git killed an’ leave no one to take 
the word to Lewis.” 

“But why run any risk?” I anxiously demanded; 
for I feared he had some mad prank in mind which 
would betray our presence and perhaps stop our 
warning to the army. 

“We must Tarn somethin* as to how many o’ the 
red skunks there be,” he replied. 

“To venture near their camp will mean discov- 
ery. They’re very wide-awake.” 

“I ain’t goin’ near their camp,” he growled in 
irritation. “I want to look over them rafts. I can 
tell from them how many warriors come over, or 
pretty close to it.” 

He slipped away and left me to do the hardest of 
the work — the work of waiting. It seemed a very 
long time before I heard the bushes rustle. I drew 
my ax, but a voice whispering “Richmond,” the 
parole for the night, composed me. Feeling his 
way to my side he gravely informed me : 

“There’s seventy-eight or nine rafts an* a few 


328 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


canoes. It’s goin’ to be a fine piece o’ fightin’. At 
least there’s a thousand warriors on this side an’ 
a lot o’ squaws an’ boys.” 

I estimated our army at eleven hundred and I 
thanked God they were all frontiersmen. 

Cousin now was as eager to go as I ; and leaving 
our hiding-place, we worked north until we felt 
safe to make a detour to the east. Our progress 
was slow as there was no knowing how far the 
Indian scouts were ranging. Once we were forced 
to remain flat on our stomachs while a group o£ 
warriors passed within a dozen feet of us, driving 
to their camp some strayed beeves from the high 
rolling bottom-lands to the east. When the last of 
them had passed I observed with great alarm a 
thinning out of the darkness along the eastern sky- 
line. 

“Good God! We’ll be too late!” I groaned. 
“Let’s fire our guns and give the alarm!” 

“Not yet!” snarled my companion. “I must be 
in the thick o’ that fight. We’re too far east to git 
to camp in a hustle. We must sneak atween the 
hills an’ that small slash (Virginian for marsh). 
Foller me.” 

We changed our course so as to avoid the low 
hills drained by Crooked Creek, and made after the 
warriors. About an hour before sunrise we were 
at the head of the marsh, and in time to witness 
the first act of the day’s great drama. Two men 


THE SHADOWS VANISH 329 

were working out of the fallen timber, and Cousin 
threw up his double-barrel rifle. I checked him, 
saying : 

“Don’t! They’re white!” 

“Renegades !” 

“John Sevier’s younger brother, Valentine. 
T’other is Jim Robertson.” 

“Then Lewis knows. He sent ’em to scout the 
camp.” 

“They’re after game. James Shelby is sick with 
the fever. Yesterday morning he asked them to 
perch a turkey for him. Signal them. They know 
nothing about the Indians !” 

Cousin risked discovery by standing clear of the 
bushes and waving his hat. “There comes two 
more of ’em!” he exclaimed. 

This couple was some distance behind the 
Watauga boys, but I recognized them. One was 
James Mooney, my companion on the Coal River 
scout. The other was Joseph Hughey. 

I jumped out and stood beside Cousin and waved 
my arms frantically. One of them caught the mo- 
tion and said something. The four paused and 
stared at us. We made emphatic gestures for them 
to fall back. At first they were slow to understand, 
thinking, as Sevier told me afterward, that I was 
pointing out some game. Then they turned to run, 
Robertson and Sevier firing their rifles to the 
woods to the north of us. 


330 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


These were the first guns fired in the battle of 
Point Pleasant. From the woods came the noise of 
a large body of men advancing. A ripple of shots 
was sent after the hunters. Hughey and Mooney 
halted and returned the fire. A streak of red some 
distance ahead of the Shawnees’ position, and close 
to the river-bank, dropped Hughey dead. This 
shot was fired by Tavenor Ross, a white man, who 
was captured by the Indians when a boy and who 
had grown up among them. 

Mooney, Robertson and young Sevier were now 
running for the camp, passing between the Ohio 
bank and the marsh. We raced after them just as 
a man named Hickey ran from the bushes and 
joined them. The Indians kept up a scattering fire 
and they made much noise as they spread out 
through the woods in battle-line. They supposed 
we were the scouts of an advancing army. 

It is the only instance I know of where insubor- 
dination saved any army from a surprise attack, 
and possibly from defeat. To escape detection 
while breaking the orders against foraging, the five 
men named had stolen from the camp at an early 
hour. 

By the time Cousin and I passed the lower end 
of the marsh small bodies of Indians were making 
for the hills along Crooked Creek; others were fol- 
lowing down the Ohio inside the timber, while their 
scouts raced recklessly after us to locate our line of 


THE SHADOWS VANISH 


33i 


battle. The scouts soon discovered that our army 
was nowhere to be seen. Runners were instantly 
sent back to inform Cornstalk he was missing a 
golden opportunity by not attacking at once. 

Mooney was the first to reach Colonel Lewis, 
who was seated on a log in his shirt-sleeves, smok- 
ing his pipe. Mooney shouted : 

“More’n four acres covered with Injuns at Old 
Town Creek !” 

Rising, but with no show of haste, Lewis called 
to Cousin and me : “What about this ?” 

“An attack in force, sir, I believe,” I panted. 

He glanced at Cousin, who nodded and then 
ducked away. 

“I think you are mistaken,” the colonel coldly 
remarked. “It must be a big scouting-party.” I 
tried to tell him what Cousin and I had seen and 
heard. But he ignored me and ordered the drums 
to beat To Arms. But already the border men were 
turning out and diving behind logs and rocks even 
while the sleep still blurred their eyes. 

Colonel Lewis ordered two columns of one hun- 
dred and fifty men each to march forward and test 
the strength of the enemy. The colonel’s brother 
Charles led the Augusta line to the right. Colonel 
William Fleming commanded the left — Botetourt 
men. The two columns were about two hundred 
yards apart, and their brisk and businesslike advance 
did the heart good to behold. 


332 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


No one as yet except the hunters and Cousin and 
I realized the three hundred men were being sent 
against the full force of the Ohio Indians. Colonel 
Lewis resumed his seat and continued smoking. 

“You’re nervous, Morris. It can’t be more than 
a large scouting-party, or they’d have chased you 
in.” 

“They came over on seventy-eight rafts!” I 
replied, turning to race after Colonel Charles Lewis’ 
column. 

The Augusta men were now swinging in close to 
Crooked Creek where it skirts the foot of the low 
hills. As I drew abreast of the head of the column 
we were fired upon by a large force of Indians, now 
snugly ensconced behind trees and fallen timber 
along the creek. We were then not more than a 
quarter of a mile from camp. The first fire was 
tremendously heavy and was quickly followed by a 
second and third volley. The Augusta men reeled, 
but quickly began returning the fire, the behavior 
of the men being all that a commander could desire. 
They were forced to give ground, however, as the 
odds were heavy. 

On our left crashed a volley as the Botetourt 
men were fired on. Colonel Lewis ordered his men 
to take cover, then turned to Captain Benjamin Har- 
rison and cried: 

“This is no scouting-party! But my brother will 
soon be sending reinforcements.” 


THE SHADOWS VANISH 


333 

He had hardly spoken before he spun half-way 
around, a surprised expression on his face. 

“I’m wounded,” he quietly said. 

Then handing his rifle to a soldier, he called out 
to his men : 

“Go on and be brave!” 

With that he began walking to the camp. I ran 
to help him, but he motioned me back, saying: 

“Your place is there. I’m all right.” 

So I left him, a very brave soldier and a Christian 
gentleman, to make his way alone while his very 
minutes were numbered. 

Half a dozen of our men were down and the 
rest were slowly giving ground. Up to the time 
Colonel Lewis left us I had seen very few Indians, 
and only mere glimpses at that. Now they began 
showing themselves as they crowded forward 
through the timber, confident they were to slaugh- 
ter us. Above the noise of the guns, the yells and 
shouts of red and white combatants, rose a deep 
booming voice, that of Cornstalk, and he was shout- 
ing: 

“Be strong! Be strong! Push them into the 
river !” 

We dragged back our dead and wounded as with 
a reckless rush the Indians advanced over logs and 
rocks up to the very muzzles of our guns. But 
although the Augusta line gave ground the men 
were not suffering from panic, and the smashing 


334 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


volley poured into the enemy did great damage and 
checked their mad onslaught. 

Never before did red men make such a deter- 
mined charge. In an instant there were a score of 
individual combats, backwoodsman and savage 
being clinched in a death-struggle with ax and 
knife. Now our line stiffened, and the very shock 
of their attack seemed to hurl the Indians back. 
Still we would have been forced back to the camp 
and must have suffered cruel losses if not for the 
timely reinforcements brought up on the run by 
Colonel John Field, veteran of Braddock’s and Pon- 
tiac’s Wars. 

He led Augusta and Botetourt men, for it was no 
longer possible to keep the two lines under their 
respective commanders, nor did any captain for the 
rest of the day command his own company as a 
unit. With the coming up of Colonel Field the 
Indians immediately gave ground, then charged 
most viciously as our men pursued. This maneuver 
was one of Cornstalk’s cunning tactics, the alternate 
advance and retreat somewhat confusing our men. 

The second attack was repulsed and the riflemen 
slowly gained more ground. The firing on our 
left was now very heavy and Colonel Field directed 
me to learn how the fight there was progressing. 
Some of our fellows were screaming that Fleming’s 
column was being driven in, and our colonel had 
no intention of being cut off. 


THE SHADOWS VANISH 


335 


As I started toward the river I could hear Corn- 
stalk exhorting: “Shoot straight! Lie close! 
Fight and be strong!” 

As I withdrew from the right column I had a 
chance to get a better idea of the battle. The In- 
dians lined the base of the hills bordered by Crooked 
Creek, and were posted on all the heights to shoot 
any whites trying to swim either the Ohio or the 
Kanawha. On the opposite side of the Ohio and, 
as I later learned on the south bank of the Kanawha, 
red forces had been stationed in anticipation of our 
army being routed. 

As I neared the Botetourt men I could hear be- 
tween volleys the Indians shouting in unison: 

“Drive the white dogs over!” meaning across 
the river. 

The Botetourt men were well posted and con- 
siderably in advance of the right column, as they 
had given but little ground while the right was 
retiring after Lewis was shot. At no time did 
either column fight at a range of more than twenty 
yards, and when I crawled among Fleming’s men 
the range was not more than six yards, while here 
and there in the deeper growth were hand-to-hand 
struggles. 

“A big chunk of a fight !” screamed a shrill voice, 
and Cousin was beside me, wearing a brilliant scar- 
let jacket. As he was crawling by me I caught him 
by the heel and dragged him back. 


336 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


“You fool! Take that coat off!” I yelled. For 
the vivid splotch of color made him a tempting tar- 
get for every Indian gun. And the Shawnees were 
skilful marksmen even if less rapid than the whites 
because of their inability to clean their fouled wea- 
pons. 

Cousin drew up his leg to kick free, then smiled 
sweetly and said : 

“It's my big day, Morris. Don’t go for to med- 
dle with my medicine. Everything’s all right at 
last. I’ve found the long trace that leads to my 
little sister. She’s waitin’ to put her hand in mine, 
as she used to do on Keeney’s Knob.” 

With that he suddenly jerked his leg free and 
sprang to his feet and streaked toward the savages, 
his blood-curdling panther-screech penetrating the 
heavier vibrations of the battle. 

He was lost to view in the brush and I had my 
work to do. I kept along the edge of the timber, 
and answered many anxious queries as to the fate of 
the right column. I reassured them, but did not 
deem it wise to tell of Colonel Lewis’ wound. I 
found the column quite close to the river and by the 
stubborn resistance it was meeting I knew the In- 
dians were strongly posted. 

“Why don’t you whistle now ?” they kept howling 
in concert, and referring to our fifes which were 
still. 

“We’ll kill you all, and then go and speak to 


THE SHADOWS VANISH 337 

your big chief (Dunmore),” was one of their 
promises. 

And there were other things shouted, foul 
epithets, which I am ashamed to admit could only 
have been learned from the whites. And repeatedly 
did they encourage one another and seek to intimi- 
date us by yelling : 

“Drive the white dogs over the river! Drive 
them like cattle into the water!” 

While I kept well covered and was completing 
my reconnaissance I was horrified to see Colonel 
Fleming walk into the clear ground. He fired at 
an Indian who had showed himself for a moment 
to make an insulting gesture. He got his man, and 
the next second was struck by three balls, two pass- 
ing through his left arm and the third penetrating 
his left breast 

He called out to his captains by name and sharply 
ordered them to hold their ground while he went 
to the rear to be patched up. He was answered by 
hearty cheers, but his absence was to be keenly felt 
by his officers. He started to work his way to the 
Point, but the exertion of bending and dodging 
from tree to stump sorely taxed him. I ran to his 
aid just as Davis, of Howard's Creek, sprang from 
behind a log and seized his right arm. Between us 
we soon had him back in camp and his shirt off. 
The lung tissue had been forced through the wound 
a finger’s length. He asked me to put it back. I 


338 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


attempted it and failed, whereat he did it himself 
without any fuss. 

On returning to the right column to make a be- 
lated report to Colonel Field I ran across the body 
of Mooney, my partner on several scouts. He had 
been shot through the head. It may here be said 
that nearly all the dead on both sides were shot 
through the head or chest, indicating the accuracy 
of marksmanship on both sides. 

I found the Augusta men steadily pushing the 
Indians back. But when they gave ground quickly, 
as if in a panic, it was to tempt the foolhardy into 
rushing forward. The riflemen had learned their 
lesson, however, and maintained their alignment. 
The advance was through nettles and briers, up 
steep muddy banks and over fallen timber. 

The warriors rushed repeatedly to the very muz- 
zles of our guns, and thus displayed a brand of 
courage never surpassed, if ever equaled, by the 
North American Indian before. It was Cornstalk 
who was holding them to the bloody work. His 
voice at times sounded very close, but although we 
all knew his death would count a greater coup than 
the scalps of a hundred braves we never could get 
him. He was too shrewd and evasive. 

Once I believed I had him, for I had located him 
behind a detached mound of fallen timber. He was 
loudly calling out for his men to be brave and 
to lie close, when a warrior leaped up and started to 


THE SHADOWS VANISH 


339 


run to the rear. Then Cornstalk flashed into view 
long enough to sink his ax into the coward’s head. 
It was all done so quickly that he dropped to cover 
unharmed. 

That was one of his ways of enforcing obedience, 
a mode of terrorization never before practised by a 
war-chief to my knowledge. It was told afterward 
by the Shawnees that he killed more than that weak- 
hearted one during the long day. I saw nothing of 
the other chiefs who attended the conference in 
Cornstalk’s Town while I was a prisoner. And yet 
they were there, chiefs of Mingos, Wyandots, Dela- 
wares and Ottawas. 

“They’re failin’ back! They’re failin’ back!” 
yelled a voice in advance of our first line. 

And the scream of a panther told us it was Cou- 
sin. He had worked across from the left column, 
and we were soon beholding his bright jacket in a 
tangle of logs and stumps. 

The men advanced more rapidly, but did not 
break their line; and it was evident the savages 
were giving ground in earnest. Our men renewed 
their cheering and their lusty shouts were answered 
by the column on the river-bank, still in advance of 
us. 

As it seemed we were about to rush the enemy 
into a panic we received our second heavy loss of 
the day. Colonel Field was shot dead. He was 
standing behind a big tree, reserving his fire for 


340 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


an Indian who had been shouting filthy abuse at 
him. Poor colonel ! It was but a ruse to hold his 
attention while savages up the slope and behind 
fallen timber drew a bead on him. Captain Evan 
Shelby assumed command and ordered the men to 
keep up the advance. 

The Indians gave ground, but with no signs of 
confusion. Observing our left column was in ad- 
vance of the right, Cornstalk was attempting to 
straighten his line by pulling in his left. As we 
pressed on we discovered the savages were scalping 
their own dead to prevent their hair falling into 
our hands. From the rear of the red men came the 
sound of many tomahawks. Cousin, who for a 
moment found himself at my side, exulted : 

“Curse 'em! Their squaws an’ boys are cuttin’ 
saplin’s for to carry off their wounded! They’ll 
need a heap o’ stretchers afore this day is over !” 

The sun was now noon-high and the heat was 
beastly. The battle was at its climax. The left 
column was near a little pond and about fifty yards 
from the river, or a fourth of a mile beyond the 
spot where Lewis was shot. We had evened up 
this lead, and the battle-line extended from the 
river and pond to Crooked Creek and half-way 
down the creek, running from west to east and then 
southwest. 

Cornstalk’s plan was to coop us up in the Point 
and drive us into the Kanawha and Ohio. There 


THE SHADOWS VANISH 


34i 


were times when our whole line gave ground, but 
only to surge ahead again. Thus we seesawed back 
and forth along a mile and a quarter of battle-line, 
with the firing equal in intensity from wing to wing. 
Nor had the Indians lost any of their high spirits. 
Their retreat was merely a maneuver. They kept 
shouting : 

“We’ll show you how to shoot !” 

“Why don’t you come along?” 

“Why don’t you whistle now?” 

“You’ll have two thousand to fight to-morrow!” 

But the force that held them together and im- 
pelled them to make the greatest fight the American 
Indian ever put up, not even excepting the battle of 
Bushy Run, was Cornstalk. Truly he was a great 
man, measured even by the white man’s standards! 

“Be strong ! Be brave ! Lie close ! Shoot well !” 
flowed almost uninterruptedly from his lips. 

Davis, of Howard’s Creek, went by me, making 
for the rear with a shattered right arm and a 
ghastly hole through his cheek. He tried to grin 
on recognizing me. Word was passed on from our 
rear that runners had been sent to hurry up Colonel 
Christian and his two hundred men. Among the 
captains killed by this time were John Murray and 
Samuel Wilson. It was a few minutes after the 
noon hour that Cousin emerged from the smoke on 
my right and howled: 

“There’s old Puck-i-n-shin-wa !” 


34 2 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


He darted forward, clearing all obstacles with 
the ease of a deer. I saw the Shawnee chief, father 
of Tecumseh, snap his piece at the boy. Then I saw 
him go down with Cousin’s lead through his painted 
head. Two savages sprang up and Cousin killed 
one with his remaining barrel. The other fired 
pointblank, and by the way Cousin fell I knew his 
object in wearing the scarlet jacket was attained. 
He had wished to die this day in the midst of battle. 

William White killed Cousin’s slayer. The boy 
was in advance of the line and his coat made him 
conspicuous. Doubtless the savages believed him 
to be an important officer because of it. 

Five of them rushed in to secure his scalp, and 
each fell dead, and their bodies concealed the boy 
from view. Up to one o’clock the fighting raged 
with undiminished fury, with never any cessation 
of their taunts and epithets and Cornstalk’s stento- 
rian encouragement. 

Now it is never in Indian nature to prolong a 
conflict once it is obvious they must suffer heavy 
losses. They consider it the better wisdom to run 
away and await an opportunity when the advantage 
will be with them. Cornstalk had been confident 
that his early morning attack would drive us into the 
rivers, thus affording his forces on the opposite 
banks much sport in picking us off. 

But so fiercely contested had been the battle that 
none of our dead had been scalped except Hughey 


THE SHADOWS VANISH 


343 


and two or three men who fell at the first fire. 
By all that we had learned of Indian nature they 
should now, after six hours of continuous fighting, 
be eager to withdraw. They had fought the most 
bitterly contested battle ever participated in by their 
race. 

Nor had they, as in Braddock’s defeat, been aided 
by white men. There were, to be true, several 
white men among them, such as Tavenor Ross, John 
Ward and George Collet; but these counted no more 
than ordinary warriors and Collet was killed before 
the fighting was half over. According to all pre- 
cedents the battle should have ended in an Indian 
rout by the time the sun crossed the meridian. 
Instead the savages stiffened their resistance and 
held their line. 

Our men cheered from parched throats when 
word was passed that Collet's body had been found 
and identified. Poor devil ! Perhaps it opened the 
long trace to him, where everything would be made 
right. He was captured when a child and had re- 
sponded to the only environment he had ever known. 

The case of such as Collet — yes, and of John 
Ward and Ross — is entirely different from that of 
Timothy Dorman, and others of his kind, who was 
captured when a grown man and who turned rene- 
gade to revenge himself for wrongs, real or fancied, 
on his old neighbors. 

It was not until after seven hours of fighting that 


344 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


we detected any falling off in the enemy’s resistance. 
Even then the savages had the advantage of an 
excellent position, and to press them was extremely 
hazardous business. We continued to crowd them, 
however, until they were lined up on a long ridge 
which extended from the small marsh where Cousin 
and I first saw Robertson and Sevier, for half a 
mile to the east, where it was cut by the narrow bed 
of Crooked Creek. 

None of us needed to be told that so long as the 
enemy held this ridge our camp at the Point was in 
grave danger. From the riflemen along the Ohio 
word came that the Indians were throwing their 
dead into the river, while squaws and boys were 
dragging back their wounded. 

This had a heartening effect on us, for it indi- 
cated a doubt was creeping into the minds of the 
savages. Once they permitted the possibility of 
defeat to possess them their effectiveness would 
decrease. Company commanders called on their men 
to take the ridge, but to keep their line intact. 

With wild cheers the men responded and buckled 
down to the grueling task. Every patch of fallen 
timber proved to be an Indian fort, where the bravest 
of the tribes fought until they were killed. It was 
stubborn traveling, but our riflemen were not to 
be denied. 

From along the line would come cries of : 

“Remember Tygart’s Valley!” 


THE SHADOWS VANISH 


345 


“Remember Carr’s Creek!” 

“Remember the Clendennins !” 

And always Cornstalk’s voice answered : 

“Be strong! Be brave! Fight hard!” 

So we struggled up the slope, gaining a yard at 
a time and counting it a triumph if we passed a pile 
of dead timber and gained another a few feet 
beyond. 

When we were most encouraged the Indians 
began mocking us and shouting exultingly and 
informing us that the warriors across the Kanawha 
and Ohio had attacked our camp and were mas- 
sacring the small force retained there. This state- 
ment, repeatedly hurled at us with every semblance 
of savage gloating, tended to weaken the men’s one 
purpose. We could capture the ridge — but! Be- 
hind our determination crawled the fear that we 
might be assailed in the rear at any moment. 

Captain Shelby was quick to realize the depress- 
ing influence of this kind of talk, and shouted for 
the word to be passed that it was an Indian trick, 
that our troops were guarding the Kanawha for 
half a mile up the stream and that the warriors on 
the Indian shore could not cross over without the 
column on our left discovering the move. 

This prompted our common sense to return to us. 
and we remembered that Andrew Lewis was too 
cool and shrewd to be caught napping. The Point 
was sprinkled with huge trees and it would take a 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


346 

big force to clear it of our reserves ; and the bulk of 
the enemy was before us on the ridge. 

With renewed vigor we made greater exertions 
and at last reached the top of the ridge and cleared 
it. But even then the Indians were not defeated. 
They charged up with ferocious energy time after 
time, and the best we could do was to cling to our 
position and let them bring the fighting to us. So 
different was their behavior from any we had been 
familiar with in previous engagements we began to 
wonder if they would violate other Indian preced- 
ents and continue the battle into the night. 

It was not until three or four o’clock that we 
noticed any lessening in their efforts to retake the 
ridge. At the best this afforded us only a short 
breathing-spell. There were many warriors still 
hidden along the slopes drained by Crooked Creek. 
Our line was so long there was always danger of 
the Indians concentrating and breaking it. 

So long as we stuck to the ridge on the defensive 
the enemy had the advantage of the initiative. A 
runner brought up word from Colonel Lewis to 
learn the strength of the savages in the hills along 
the creek, and I was directed to reconnoiter. 

I made for the creek from the south slope of the 
ridge. Sliding down the muddy bank, I ascended 
the opposite slope and began making my way toward 
the point where the creek cut through the ridge. I 
encountered no Indians, although axes and knives 


THE SHADOWS VANISH 347 

on the ground showed where they had been sta- 
tioned before retiring. 

I passed through the cut and was suddenly con- 
fronted by what I thought at first must be the devil. 
The fellow was wearing the head of a buffalo, horns 
and tangled forelock and all. Through the eye-slits 
gleamed living eyes. The shock of his grotesque 
appearance threw me off my guard for a moment. 
He leaped upon me and we went down the bank into 
the bed of the creek. 

He had his ax ready to use but I caught his hand. 
His hideous mask proved to be his undoing, for as 
we rolled about it became twisted. I was quick to 
see my advantage. Relying on one hand to hold 
his wrist, I used all my quickness and strength and 
succeeded in turning the mask half-way around, 
leaving him blind and half-smothered. I killed him 
with his own ax before he could remove his cum- 
bersome headgear. 

As none of his companions had come to his 
rescue I knew this marked their most advanced po- 
sition in the hills. Having learned all I could with- 
out sacrificing my life, I began my retreat down the 
creek and narrowly escaped being shot by one of 
our own men. 

Captain Shelby ordered me to report to Colonel 
Lewis, which I did, running at top speed without 
attempting to keep under cover. I found the re- 
serves had thrown up a breastwork from the Ohio 


348 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


to the Kanawha, thus inclosing the camp on the 
Point. It lacked half an hour of sunset when I 
reached the camp. 

Colonel Lewis heard me, then ordered Captains 
Isaac Shelby, Arbuckle, Matthews and Stuart to 
lead their companies up Crooked Creek under cover 
of the bank until they could secure a position behind 
the Indians and enfilade their main line. I scouted 
ahead of this force. We circled the end of the In- 
dian line, but were at once discovered. 

Instead of this being our undoing, it proved to be 
all in our favor. Cornstalk’s spies had kept him 
informed of Colonel Christian’s presence a few 
miles from the Point. He took it for granted that 
this force in the hills behind his line was reinforce- 
ments brought up by Christian, and this belief 
caused him to order a general retirement across Old 
Town Creek. At that time Christian was fifteen 
miles from the Point. Sunset found us in full 
possession of the battle-field. 

Leaving strong outposts, we retired to the well- 
protected camp, rejoicing loudly and boasting of 
more than two-score scalps. We carried off all our 
dead and wounded. The exact Indian loss was 
never definitely settled but it must have equaled, if 
not exceeded, ours. More than a score were found 
in the woods covered deep with brush, and many 
were thrown into the river. 

This battle ended Dunmore’s War, also known as 


THE SHADOWS VANISH 


349 


Cresap’s War and the Shawnee War. So far as ac- 
tual fighting and losses are considered it was a 
drawn battle. But as Cornstalk could not induce 
his men to renew the conflict, and inasmuch as they 
retreated before morning to the Indian shore, the 
victory must be held to be with the backwoodsmen. 

And yet the tribes were not entirely downcast, for 
during the early evening they continued to taunt us 
and to repeat their threats of bringing an army of 
two thousand on to the field in the morning. In 
fact, many of our men believed the savages had a 
shade the better of the fight, and would renew hos- 
tilities in the morning. 

That night we buried Shelby Cousin on the bank 
of the Kanawha and built a fire over his grave to 
conceal it. Colonel Christian arrived at midnight, 
and there was some lurid profanity when his men 
learned they had arrived too late for the fighting. 
One week after the battle eleven hundred troops 
crossed the Ohio to carry the war to the Indian 
towns for a final decision. 

When thirteen miles south of Chillicothe, the 
town Governor Dunmore had ordered us to attack 
and destroy, a message arrived from His Lordship, 
directing Colonel Lewis to halt his advance, for 
peace was about to be made. Hostile bands had fired 
upon us that very morning, and the position was not 
suitable for a camp. Colonel Lewis continued the 
march for a few miles. Another messenger arrived 


350 


A VIRGINIA SCOUT 


with orders for us to halt, for the peace was about 
to be consummated. 

We went into camp on Congo Creek, about five 
miles from Chillicothe. The men raged something 
marvelous. They insisted that no decisive battle had 
been fought and that we had thrown away nearly a 
hundred lives if the fighting were not renewed. 
The Shawnees were in our power. What folly to 
let them escape! 

Dunmore and White Eyes, the friendly Delaware 
chief, rode into camp and conferred with Colonel 
Lewis; and as a result we started the next day for 
Point Pleasant and Virginia. The men were all 
but out of bounds, so furious were they at not being 
loosed at the Shawnees. 

Then began the talk that Dunmore brought on the 
war to keep our backwoodsmen busy in event the 
colonies rebelled against England; also, that he 
closed it prematurely so that the Indians might con- 
tinue a menace to the border and thus keep the 
frontier men at home. 

I was as hot as any against His Lordship for the 
way the campaign ended. We demanded blood for 
blood in those days; and never had the Virginia 
riflemen a better chance for inflicting lasting pun- 
ishment on their ancient foes. And we were quick 
to blame His Lordship for a variety of unwhole- 
some motives. 

But with political rancor long since buried we 


THE SHADOWS VANISH 


35i 


can survey that campaign more calmly and realize 
that as a result of the battle the northwest Indians 
kept quiet for the first two years of the Revolution- 
ary War, and that during this period Kentucky was 
settled and the vast continent west of the Allegha- 
nies was saved to the Union. 

If the battle of Bushy Run took the heart out of 
the tribes confederated under Pontiac’s masterly 
leadership, then Dunmore’s War permitted us to 
begin life as a republic without having the Alle- 
ghanies for our western boundary. Nor can I hold 
in these latter days that His Lordship was insincere 
in waging the war ; for England was against it from 
the first. 

I believed he pushed the war as vigorously and 
shrewdly as he knew how ; and I believe his was the 
better judgment in securing the best peace-terms 
possible instead of heaping defeat on defeat until 
the allied tribes had nothing left to bargain for. 
So I give His Lordship credit for making a good 
bargain with the Indians, and a bargain which aided 
the colonists during the struggle almost upon them. 
But I was very happy when Colonel Andrew Lewis 
drove him from Virginia. 


CHAPTER XIII 


PEACE COMES TO THE CLEARING 

T^ARLY winter, and the wind was crisp and cold 
as I rode into Howard’s Creek. Smoke rose 
from the cabins. I limped toward the Davis cabin, 
a strange shyness holding me back. Some one 
inside was singing: 

“Ye daughters and sons of Virginia, incline 
Your ears to a story of woe ; 

I sing of a time when your fathers and mine 
Fought for us on the Ohio. 

In seventeen hundred and seventy-four, 

The month of October, we know, 

An army of Indians, two thousand or more, 
Encamped on the Ohio.” 

There was a whirl of linsey petticoats behind me* 
and two plump arms were about my neck; and her 
dear voice was sobbing: 

“They didn’t know! I feared you were dead 
beyond the Ohio!” 

“But I sent you a message!” I protested, patting 
her bowed head. “I sent word by Moulton that it 
352 


PEACE COMES 353 

was only an arrow-wound in the leg, and that I 
must wait” 

“And he never came, nor brought your word! 
He stopped in Tygart’s Valley and sent his brother 
to bring Mrs. Moulton and the children. One man 
said he heard you had been hurt. I wrote to Col- 
onel Lewis but he was not at Richfield. So I never 
knew !” 

We walked aside, and I petted her and listened to 
her dear voice and forgot the cold wind biting into 
my thin blood, forgot I would always walk with a 
slight limp. When we did awake, because the early 
dusk was filling the clearing, the singer was finish- 
ing his seventeen-stanza song: 

“As Israel did mourn and her daughters did weep, 

For Saul and his host on Gilbow, 

We’ll mourn Colonel Field and the heroes who sleep 

On the banks of the Ohio.” 

And I thought of Shelby Cousin and the others, 
who gave their lives that we might meet thus with- 
out the war-whoop interrupting our wooing. And 
I wondered if our children’s children would ever 
realize that the deaths died at Point Pleasant made 
life and happiness possible for them. I prayed it 
might be so, for lonely graves are not so lonely if 
they are not forgotten. 


THE END 

















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